'He's dreaming now,' said Tweedledee: 'and what do you think he's dreaming about?' Alice said 'Nobody can guess that.' 'Why, about you!' Tweedledee exclaimed, clapping his hands triumphantly. 'And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be?' 'Where I am now, of course,' said Alice. 'Not you!' Tweedledee retorted contemptuously. 'You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream!' 'If that there King was to wake,' added Tweedledum, 'you'd go out - bang! - just like a candle!' 'I shouldn't!' Alice exclaimed indignantly. 'Besides, if I'm only a sort of thing in his dream, what are you, I should like to know?' 'Ditto' said Tweedledum. 'Ditto, ditto' cried Tweedledee. He shouted this so loud that Alice couldn't help saying, 'Hush! You'll be waking him, I'm afraid, if you make so much noise.' 'Well, it no use your talking about waking him,' said Tweedledum, 'when you're only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you're not real.' 'I am real!' said Alice and began to cry. 'You won't make yourself a bit realler by crying,' Tweedledee remarked: 'there's nothing to cry about.' 'If I wasn't real,' Alice said - half-laughing though her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous - 'I shouldn't be able to cry.' 'I hope you don't suppose those are real tears?'
Lewis Carroll (1832 - 1898)
Source: Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There, Pages: Chapter 4
That's a logical place to find each other because this place works almost as a natural selection for people that have this intention to jump off the margin of the map and we all meet here - where the lines of the map converge. There is no point that is south of the South Pole. ... Those are the professional dreamers - they dream all the time. And I think, through them, the great cosmic dreams come into fruition, because the universe dreams through our dreams. And I think that there's many different ways for the reality to bring itself forward and dreaming is definitely one of these ways.
We think, sometimes, there's not a dragon left. Not one brave knight, not a single princess gliding through secret forests, enchanting deer and butterflies with her smile. We think sometimes that ours is an age past frontiers, past adventures. Destiny, it's way over the horizon; glowing shadows galloped past long ago, and gone. What a pleasure to be wrong. Princesses, knights, enchantments and dragons, mystery and adventure... not only are they here-and-now, they're all that ever lived on earth! Our century, they've changed clothes, of course. Dragons wear government-costumes, today, and failure-suits and disaster-outfits. Society's demons screech, whirl down on us should we lift our eyes from the ground, dare we turn right at corners we've been told to turn left. So crafty have appearances become that princesses and knights can be hidden from each other, can be hidden from themselves. Yet masters of reality still meet us in dreams to tell us that we've never lost the shield we need against dragons, that blue-fire voltage arcs through us now to change our world as we wish. Intuition whispers true: We're not dust, we're magic!
Richard Bach (1936 -)
Source: The Bridge Across Forever : A Lovestory, Pages: preface
Belief? What do I believe in? I believe in sun. In rock. In the dogma of the sun and the doctrine of the rock. I believe in blood, fire, woman, rivers, eagles, storm, drums, flutes, banjos, and broom-tailed horses…
Edward Abbey (1927 - 1989)
Source: A Voice Crying in the Wilderness (Vox Clamantis in Deserto): Notes from a Secret Journal, Pages: 7