Dreams are the children of idle brain.

Ripples of feelings stir through me and I dream.

Some people see things as they are and say why. Idream things that never were and they say why not ?

It is intoxicating to create dreams, because then you arethe God amidst your dreams. It is your own world.

If dreams are facts, facts may well be dreams.

Dream is the wife who must talk, sleep is husband whosilently suffers.

Dreams are the true interpreters of our inclinations, butthere is art required to sort and understand them.

Wise men dream at night, fools both day and night.

An artist is a dreamier consenting to dream of theactual world.

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;I have spread my dreams under your feet;Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams.