A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you're fast asleep.
Night is longer than day for those who dream & day is longer than night for those who make their dreams comes true.
I love the silent hour of night, for blissful dreams may then arise, revealing to my charmed sight what may not bless my waking eyes.
A dream is a microscope through which we look at the hidden occurrences in our soul.
Cherish your visions and your dreams, as they are the children of your soul; the blueprints of your ultimate achievements.
In dreams and in love there are no impossibilities.
Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives
The world is for those who make their dreams come true.
All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible.
I like the night. Without the dark, we'd never see the stars.
I think we dream so we don't have to be apart so long. If we're in each other's dreams, we can play together all night.
I was walking along and this chair came flying past me, and another, and another, and I thought, man, is this gonna be a good night.
We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.
In the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
The course of true love never did run smooth.
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
Sleeping is no mean art: for its sake one must stay awake all day.
Lord, what fools these mortals be!
I know a place where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows.
I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.
The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.
Such tricks hath strong imagination, That, if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy; Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
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