I had a dream about you. My pee was cloudy, and I brought an umbrella to the urinal. You were the Coach of the Men’s Room, and you were giving me advice on how to be a better weatherman. But I didn’t listen, because I was the arrogant five-time MVP.
I had a dream about you. At first you were a mannequin, and I was a fashion designer. Then, inexplicably, we switched roles and I became the mannequin. But instead of putting clothes on me, you laughed at my nakedness, and you sold me to the owner of a sex shop.
You look tired," Rachel told Jason."I wish I could jog and sleep at the same time.""Can't you?" Ferrin asked, joining them at the little cascade. "I always imagined that you could sleep rolling down a mountainside in a barrel.""I probably could today," Jason conceded.
I had a dream about you. You were Ginger Rogers, and you were trying to teach me to dance, even though my movements were as stiff as a mannequin. I think you tolerated my abysmal rhythm because I was naked, and my body was so sexy it could be used to sell clothes.
I had a dream about you. I was a consumer, and you were a consumed. My grocery list had 10 items on it. Items 1-9 were cat food, and the 10th item was condoms. But not for sex—they were to store my leftovers, as Tupperware had been decreed illegal by the king.
She'd slept terribly the night before. The room, the bed, were both comfortable enough, but she'd been plagued with strange dreams, the sort that lingered upon waking but slithered away from memory as she tried to grasp them. Only the tendrils of discomfort remained.
I’ve dreamed a lot. I’m tired now from dreaming but not tired of dreaming. No one tires of dreaming, because to dream is to forget, and forgetting does not weigh on us, it is a dreamless sleep throughout which we remain awake. In dreams I have achieved everything.
In my room I'd barely closed my eyes when the blonde from the movie house came along and sang her whole song of sorrow just for me. I helped her put me to sleep, so to speak, and succeeded pretty well... I wasn't entirely alone... It's not possible to sleep alone...
Be ordinary, but bring a quality of awareness to your ordinary life. Bring God to your ordinary life introduce God into your ordinary life. Sleep, eat, love, pray, meditate, but don’t think that you are making or doing something special—and then you will be special.
Why, when we regain consciousness, is it not an identity other than the one we had previously that is embodied in us? It is not clear what dictates the choice nor why, among the millions of human beings we might be, it is the being we were the day before that we unerringly grasp.
I had a dream about you. We went for a ride—you on all fours, and me on your back, and you didn’t like it when I kept calling you “donkey face.” I was shocked, and I said, “You should be flattered that I think you look like Miley Cyrus.”
...to return to their 'native soil,' as they say, to the bosom, so to speak, of their mother earth, like frightened children, yearning to fall asleep on the withered bosom of their decrepit mother, and to sleep there for ever, only to escape the horrors that terrify them.
So the nymphs they spoke,we kissed and laid.By noontime’s hourour love was made.Like braided chains of crocus stems,we lay entwined, I laid with them.Our breath, one glassy, tideless sea,our bodies draping wearily,we slept, I slept so lucidly,with hopes to stay this memory.
Then there was Mani, the Mighty Good-For-Nothing. He towered above all the other boys of the class. He seldom brought any books to the class, and never bothered about homework. He came to the class, monopolized the last bench, ans slept bravely. No teacher ever tried to prod him.
