Gregory Corso Quotes

Out my window.. I see everything I dream about and wished I had

Oh, that river of wishes, the slippery crocodile dream of it, how it might have carried my body down through all the glittering sand bars to the sea.

If there is any realm where distinction is especially difficult, it is the realm of childhood memories, the realm of beloved images harbored in memory since childhood. These memories which live by the image and in virtue of the image become, at certain times of our lives and particularly during the quiet age, the origin and matter of a complex reverie: the memory dreams, and reverie remembers.

Some of us awake in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, of fountains that sing in the sun, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of plains that stretch down to sleeping cities of bronze andstone, and of shadowy companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horsesalong the edges of thick forests, and then we know that we have looked backthrough the ivory gates into that world of wonder that was ours, before we were wise and unhappy.

From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged / In rambling talk with an image of air: / Vague memories, nothing but memories.

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise. No one compares to you, but there's no you, except in my dreams tonight

We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they're called memories. Some take us forward, they're called dreams.

American dreams are strongest in the hearts of those who have seen America only in their dreams.

I used to dream of being other places, other people. It was an escape for me.

Travel is impossible, but daydreaming about travel is easy.

In my schoolboy reveries, we were always two fugitives riding on the spine of a book, eager to escape into worlds of fiction and secondhand dreams.

We all have our time machines, don't we. Those that take us back are memories...And those that carry us forward, are dreams.

As I gaze upon the sea! All the old romantic legends, all my dreams, come back to me.

Like all people who have nothing, I lived on dreams.

How beautiful are dreams! In dreams the dead may live, even the long dead and the very silent.

When I was 35 I realized that I was still thinking a lot about what it would be like to go to Narnia. To really go - not just in a daydream, or in a children's book, but what it would actually feel like, physically, psychologically, every other way. The idea was haunting me.

He would dream of discovering a magic optometrist from whom he would purchase a pair of green-tinged spectacles which would correct his regrettable myopia, and after that he would be able to see through the dense, blinding air to the fabulous world beneath.

A dream of life comes to me, like a catfish dancing on the end of the line.

Books are packaged dreams.

the year she had run fleetly through the dewy grass under the moon- the night of wine, when dreams condensed out of thin air like the nightmilk of fantasy.

I dream. Sometimes I think that’s the only right thing to do. To dream, to live in the world of dreams. But it doesn’t last forever. Wakefulness always comes to take me back.

I remember that I stood on the library steps holding my books and looking for a minute at the soft hinted green in the branches against the sky and wishing, as I always did, that I could walk home across the sky instead of through the village.

All pasts are like poems; one can derive a thousand things, but not live in them.

In my dreams I found a little of the beauty I had vainly sought in life, and wandered through old gardens and enchanted woods.