I had a dream about you. You were in the oil business, and I sold icy roads for a living. You didn’t understand who’d buy such a thing, and I said you didn’t understand how earmarks get slipped in Congressional bills.

to be still in the darkness to celebrate the lack of lightto see beauty where the patterns are stern gray austere still lifesthis is the quest for those who slumber beneath the dreaming treewaiting, waiting, waiting for signs of spring

I had a dream about you. You were a test-tube salesman, and I was the world’s first test-tube baby. You were excited to meet me, and you asked me what I was doing with myself. I said I was a uterus salesman, and that life was good.

If life was a dream, then dying must be the moment when you woke up. It was so simple it must be true. You died, the dream was over, you woke up. That's what people meant when they talked about going to heaven. It was like waking up.

I had a dream about you. You were Mickey Mantle, and I was a fireplace without a mantle. I didn’t like baseball, so I kept telling you that you could do something productive with your life, like becoming a Tupperware salesman.


I had a dream about you. The sky looked threatening, and hail the size, shape, and color of boxing gloves started pounding us in the face. Luckily my mustache looked like Chuck Norris, and you were able to take shelter under my nose.


I had a dream about you. We were comparing scars. All of yours were on your body, while all of my scars were on the bodies of people I’ve known throughout my life. It’s true, I’m unscathed, which is also why I’m alone.

I have a dream.” “Is your dream very big?” “No.” “Well is it very grand?” “Not either.” “Neither?” “Neither.” “What is it then?” “It is very shiny.

First you have nothing, and then, astonishingly, after ripping out your brain and your heart and betraying your friends and ex-lovers and dreaming like a zombie over the page till you can't see or hear or smell or taste, you have something.

I'm almost convinced that I'm never awake. I'm not sure if I'm not in fact dreaming when I live, and living when I dream, or if dreaming and living are for me intersected, intermingled things that together form my conscious self.

I had a dream about you. You were drinking apple juice, and I was drinking horse piss, though the spectators in the stadium couldn’t tell who was drinking what, even though one million dollars for guessing correctly was on the line.


I had a dream about you. I said green was blue and yellow, and you said green was yellow and blue. You were like that with everything I said, taking the exact opposite stance, yet completely agreeing with me. That’s how I knew you loved me.

Though we may choose to view them symbolically, dreams are actually no more or less symbolic than everyday waking reality. When the images and events don't conform to our view of reality, we call them symbols. When they do, we call them facts.

Never apologize for who you are and what you do and more especially never apologize for dreaming big even if they don’t come true. Many will criticize you and call you names but hey it’s your life, it’s your dream. Make it happen.

I had a dream about you. I was a ventriloquist trying to share your fashion secrets, but you wouldn’t talk. So we put on a strip show for the department store sale, and I was arrested for theft – I took away your dignity as a mannequin.