It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams.
Trust in dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they're called memories. Some take us forward, they're called dreams.
Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.
We all have a childhood dream that when there is love, everything goes like silk, but the reality is that marriage requires a lot of compromise.
Happiness in this world, when it comes, comes incidentally. Make it the object of pursuit, and it leads us a wild-goose chase, and is never attained. Follow some other object, and very possibly we may find that we have caught happiness without dreaming of it.
Dreams are the touchstones of our character.
Never in my wildest dreams did I entertain the idea that I would become a fashion designer.
Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge.
Ideologies separate us. Dreams and anguish bring us together.
A friend told me that teenage girls are always looking for someone to pin their dreams on. That doesn't make it any less weird though.
Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country.
In a couple, sometimes, one or both people have to give up their personal life, dreams and ambitions for the good of the family.
Our life dreams the Utopia. Our death achieves the Ideal.
I dream for a living.
You have many years ahead of you to create the dreams that we can't even imagine dreaming. You have done more for the collective unconscious of this planet than you will ever know.
Women are not in love with me but with the picture of me on the screen. I am merely the canvas on which women paint their dreams.
Cherish your visions and your dreams, as they are the children of your soul; the blueprints of your ultimate achievements.
If there is one place on the face of earth where all the dreams of living men have found a home from the very earliest days when man began the dream of existence, it is India.
The colour of my soul is iron-grey and sad bats wheel about the steeple of my dreams.
Dreams must be heeded and accepted. For a great many of them come true.
Obviously one must hold oneself responsible for the evil impulses of one's dreams. In what other way can one deal with them? Unless the content of the dream rightly understood is inspired by alien spirits, it is part of my own being.
A dream is a scripture, and many scriptures are nothing but dreams.
Glorify who you are today, do not condemn who you were yesterday, and dream of who you can be tomorrow.
In imitating the exemplary acts of a God or of a mythic hero, or simply by recounting their adventures, the man of an archaic societydetaches himself from profane time and magically re-enters the Great Time, the sacred time.