For love is no part of the dreamworld. Love belongs to Desire, and Desire is always cruel.

You lived what anybody gets, Bernie. You got a lifetime. No more. No less.

The only reason people die, is because EVERYONE does it. You all just go along with it.It's RUBBISH, death. It's STUPID. I don't want nothing to do with it.

For some folks death is release, and for others death is an abomination, a terrible thing. But in the end, I'm there for all of them.

I must confess, I have always wondered what lay beyond life, my dear.Yeah, everybody wonders. And sooner or later everybody gets to find out.

He said, "Were he only like his sister—what a difference that would make! For there never was such a sweet and gentle lady! I hear her footsteps, as she goes about the world. I hear the swish-swish-swish of her silken gown and the jingle-jangle of the silver chain about her neck. Her smile is full of comfort and her eyes are kind and happy! How I long to see her!" "Who, sir?" asked Paramore, puzzled. "Why, his sister, John. His sister.

People think dreams aren't real just because they aren't made of matter, of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes.

I move from dreamer to dreamer, from dream to dream, hunting for what I need. Slipping and sliding and flickering through the dreams; and the dreamer will wake, and wonder why this dream seemed different, wonder how real their lives can truly be.

You hurt. It's okay. I hurt too. Hold my hand.

I walk across the dreaming sands under the pale moon: through the dreams of countries and cities, past dreams of places long gone and times beyond recall.

Of course, the truth is that no one likes change. People in hell not only refuse to leave it, they invite you in, too. Even people who have blasted the other lives that touched their own blasted lives proudly declare in old age that they would not change a thing -- all that cursing and screaming was their life, by God, and it is not possible to imagine any other. Change introduces unpredictability, uncertainty, a universe of disorder. Right before an amoeba splits in two, it says to itself, uh uh, no way, I ain't gonna do that, nope.

Everything created has a beginning, Destiny of the Endless...as everything created has an end.

King shrugged and looked back at Harlen. "Please tell me you have a plan. Because my baby girl really likes to color with me.

I am not in my gallery and neither do I hold your sigil. Will you speak to me?

But we do not need to recount every sermon and eulogy. After all, you were there.

Is there a word for forgetting the name of someone when you want to introduce them to someone else at the same time you realize you've forgotten the name of the person you're introducing them to as well?""No.

[Dream] I do not want a grape.[Desire] I could make you want one.

Though I adore the idea of Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, Sandman, the Tooth Fairy, and such luminary characters—especially their altruism and devotion—I still don't believe in them.  For I know the truth.  Only one such miracle worker exists who performs magic in my life, seeing to my wants and needs without fail.  That queen is my mother.  With unwavering faith I believe in her.

Never trust the storyteller. Only trust the story.

Red light flickered behind her closed eyelids, and when she opened them, she discovered that they were surrounded by flames. Let it burn.... His sleek brow wrinkled, and he shook his head. Poor man looked conflicted, which was an interesting expression on a nightmare. "Your city is on fire." She smiled languidly. "Ain't it grand?

He's a nightmare," she said. "I can be, too." Rook answered, his red eyes glowing. "Just try me.

His dad's eyes were getting darker. "How bad is it really?" Very bad. Too many fronts to fight. Bur for starters... "That big storm out east?" Jordan and Rook had gone to investigate... "That's the Sandman in the waking world." His dad frowned deeply. He shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know what that means." Yeah, well... "Neither do we.

For there was nothing in his eyes but the black night and the cold stars.

I don't really like driving in the snow. There's something about the motion of the falling snowflakes that hurts my eyes, throws my sense of balance all to hell. It's like tumbling into a field of stars.

To be Despair. It is a portrait. Only close your eyes and feel.

The Agora had fallen, too. Vince turned the radio off, dismissing what they'd just heard, and merged onto I-87. A little shriek of madness sounded in the back of his brain, but he said, with admirable calm considering, "Seriously, love, I think we've got this.