He’s breathing like he’s lost his mind and he’s looking at me like something has broken inside of him, like he’s woken up to find that his nightmares were just that, that they never existed, that it was all just a bad dream that felt far too real but now he’s awake and he’s safe and everything is going to be okay and I’m falling. I’m falling apart and into his heart and I’m a disaster.
Sometimes when I'm alone, I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena.
It's not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you,” he says. “I'm okay once I realize you're here.
Love is the greatest of dreams, yet the worst of nightmares.
I can talk to you about my past, Oliver, not to make you pity me or make myself look weak for attention, but to let you know who I was and what happened. What made me cry. What gave me nightmares. I prefer to hide. In fact, I may have even masked the version you know of myself. I can show you my trophy room, gladly. But…I’m afraid to open the door hiding what makes me vulnerable and imperfect.
I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?
My nightmares are usually about losing you. I'm okay once I realize you're here.
When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn't make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares still walking. When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better. "It's all right" we whisper, "I'm here, I love you." and we lie: "I'll never leave you." For just a moment or two the darkness doesn't seem so bad.
I have dreams, and I have nightmares. I overcame the nightmares because of my dreams.
I used to have nightmares that the Grinch's dog would kidnap me and make me dress up in a halter-top and hot pants and listen to Burl Ives records. -- Robin, "Anything But Love", 12/18/91.
M. Fauchelevent almost occupied a place among these vanished beings. Marius hesitated to believe that the Fauchelevent of the barricade was the same as this Fauchelevent in flesh and blood, sitting so gravely beside Cosette. The first was, probably, one of those nightmares occasioned and brought back by his hours of delirium. However, the natures of both men were rigid, no question from Marius to M. Fauchelevent was possible. Such an idea had not even occurred to him. We have already indicated this characteristic detail.
"_C'est du nouveau, n'est-ce pas?_ This time I'll act honestly and explain to you. Listen, in dreams and especially in nightmares, from indigestion or anything, a man sees sometimes such artistic visions, such complex and real actuality, such events, even a whole world of events, woven into such a plot, with such unexpected details from the most exalted matters to the last button on a cuff, as I swear Leo Tolstoy has never invented. Yet such dreams are sometimes seen not by writers, but by the most ordinary people, officials, journalists, priests.... The subject is a complete enigma. A statesman confessed to me, indeed, that all his best ideas came to him when he was asleep. Well, that's how it is now, though I am your hallucination, yet just as in a nightmare, I say original things which had not entered your head before. So I don't repeat your ideas, yet I am only your nightmare, nothing more."
CHARLES IX. (1550-1574), king of France, was the third son of Henry II. and Catherine de' Medici. At first he bore the title of duke of Orleans. He became king in 1560 by the death of his brother Francis II., but as he was only ten years old the power was in the hands of the queen-mother, Catherine. Charles seems to have been a youth of good parts, lively and agreeable, but he had a weak, passionate and fantastic nature. His education had spoiled him. He was left to his whims--even the strangest--and to his taste for violent exercises; and the excesses to which he gave himself up ruined his health. Proclaimed of age on the 17th of August 1563, he continued to be absorbed in his fantasies and his hunting, and submitted docilely to the authority of his mother. In 1570 he was married to Elizabeth of Austria, daughter of Maximilian II. It was about this time that he dreamed of making a figure in the world. The successes of his brother, the duke of Anjou, at Jarnac and Moncontour had already caused him some jealousy. When Coligny came to court, he received him very warmly, and seemed at first to accept the idea of an intervention in the Netherlands against the Spaniards. For the upshot of this adventure see the article ST BARTHOLOMEW, MASSACRE OF. Charles was in these circumstances no hypocrite, but weak, hesitating and ill-balanced. Moreover, the terrible events in which he had played a part transformed his character. He became melancholy, severe and taciturn. "It is feared," said the Venetian ambassador, "that he may become cruel." Undermined by fever, at the age of twenty he had the appearance of an old man, and night and day he was haunted with nightmares. He died on the 30th of May 1574. By his mistress, Marie Touchet, he had one son, Charles, duke of Angoulême. Charles IX. had a sincere love of letters, himself practised poetry, was the patron of Ronsard and the poets of the Pleiad, and granted privileges to the first academy founded by Antoine de Baïf (afterwards the Académie du Palais). He left a work on hunting, _Traité de la chasse royale_, which was published in 1625, and reprinted in 1859. Entry: CHARLES
FAUNUS (i.e. the "kindly," from Lat. _favere_, or the "speaker," from _fari_), an old Italian rural deity, the bestower of fruitfulness on fields and cattle. As such he is akin to or identical with Inuus ("fructifier") and Lupercus (see LUPERCALIA). Faunus also revealed the secrets of the future by strange sounds from the woods, or by visions communicated to those who slept within his precincts in the skin of sacrificed lambs; he was then called Fatuus, and with him was associated his wife or daughter Fatua. Under Greek influence he was identified with Pan, and just as there was supposed to be a number of Panisci, so the existence of many Fauni was assumed--misshapen and mischievous goblins of the forest, with pointed ears, tails and goat's feet, who loved to torment sleepers with hideous nightmares. In poetical tradition Faunus is an old king of Latium, the son of Picus (Mars) and father of Latinus, the teacher of agriculture and cattle-breeding, and the introducer of the religious system of the country, honoured after death as a tutelary divinity. Two festivals called Faunalia were celebrated in honour of Faunus, one on the 13th of February in his temple on the island in the Tiber, the other in the country on the 5th of December (Ovid, _Fasti_, ii. 193; Horace, _Odes_, iii. 18. 10). At these goats were sacrificed to him with libations of wine and milk, and he was implored to be propitious to fields and flocks. The peasants and slaves at the same time amused themselves with dancing in the meadows. Entry: FAUNUS