We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
Where all is but dream, reasoning and arguments are of no use, truth and knowledge nothing.
It’s a mistake to think that dreams can come true without having to offer anything in exchange.
Yet, mad am I not – and very surely do I not dream.
We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep.
To me dreams are a part of nature, which harbors no intention to deceive, but expresses something as best it can.
To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.
This is why dreams can be such dangerous things: they smolder on like a fire does, and sometimes consume us completely.
They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only at night.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
The thing is – fear can’t hurt you any more than a dream.
The interpretation of dreams is the royal road to a knowledge of the unconscious activities of the mind.
