What he could bear in the waking world he could not by night and he sat awake for fear the dream would return.

And the dreams so rich in color. How else would death call you? Waking in the cold dawn it all turned to ash instantly. Like certain ancient frescoes entombed for centuries suddenly exposed to the day.

in dreams it is often the case that the greatest extravagances seem bereft of their power to astonish and the most improbable chimeras seem commonplace.

But have you not met people in your dreams you never saw before? In dreams or out?Sure.And who were they? I dont know. Dream people.

It just sounds like superstition to me.And what is that?Superstition?Yes.Well. I guess it's when you believe in things that dont exist.Such as tomorrow? Or yesterday?Such as the dreams of somebody you dreamt. Yesterday was here and tomorrow's comin.

In the end we all come to be cured of our sentiments. Those whom life does not cure death will.

But what is your life? Can you see it? It vanishes at its own appearance. Moment by moment. Until it vanishes to appear no more. When you look at the world is there a point in time when the seen becomes the remembered? How are they separate? It is that which we have no way o show. It is that which is missing from our map and from the picture that it makes. And yet is all we have.

They have a long life, dreams. I have dreams now which I had as a young girl. They have an odd durability for something not quite real.""Do you think they mean anything?"She looked surprised. "Oh yes," she said. "Dont you?""Well. I dont know. They're in your head."She smiled again. "I suppose I dont consider that to be the condemnation you do.