It was one of those dreams that invade the space between seconds, proving sleep has its own physics- where time shrinks and swells, lifetimes unspool in a blink, and cities burn to ash in a mere flutter of lashes.
The condition of sleep is profoundly contradictory. It is a precious good... but it is a good like none other, because to obtain it, one must seemingly give up the imperative to have it.
O let me be awake, my God! Or let me sleep alway.
The bed is a bundle of paradoxes: we go to it with reluctance, yet we quit it with regret; we make up our minds every night to leave it early, but we make up our bodies every morning to keep it late.
What was sleep? A blessing, a respite from life, an echo of death, a demanding nuisance?
If you are living the dream, how do you know if you are asleep or awake?
I divide my time as follows: half the time I sleep, the other half I dream. I never dream when I sleep, for that would be a pity, for sleeping is the highest accomplishment of genius.
How can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?
