Grover Cleveland Quotes

Every day after I wake up, I think, 'Wait... this can't be real; I'm still going to wake up.'

It is true that when you're in the White House alone, it is a lonely place. Big and lonely.

Presidents grow up in the White House. The times shape the man.

Sometimes you wake up from a dream. Sometimes you wake up in a dream. And sometimes, every once in a while, you wake up in someone else's dream.

Perhaps life is just that... a dream and a fear.

It sometimes feels like a strange movie, you know, it's all so weird that sometimes I wonder if it is really happening.

I think it would be so much fun to be in the White House.

People who run for president seriously and people who become president enter a bizarre secret society in which they have had an experience that none of us will ever have.

Presidents live and work in a house of history. They dwell with ghosts. Present power and the weight of the past are ambient realities of daily life in the presidency, and the two are intimately connected.

Every president makes the Oval Office theirs.

I am shocked at how much time I spend in the White House. I mean, you know, for people on the outside, the idea of going to the White House for a meeting must seem like the most important, serious, even glamorous kind of thing to do.

If you are as happy in entering the White House as I shall feel on returning to Wheatland, you are a happy man indeed.

I may be permitted, kind reader, to doubt whether you have ever been enclosed in a glass bottle, unless some vivid dream has teased you with such magical mishaps.

Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?

You perceive, now, that these things are all impossible except in a dream. You perceive that they are pure and puerile insanities, the silly creations of an imagination that is not conscious of its freaks - in a word, that they are a dream, and you the maker of it. The dream-marks are all present; you should have recognized them earlier.

All life is a dream, and all dreams are dreams.

Whatever was about, whoever I had seen, and heard rocking, and who had passed me by just now, whoever had opened the locked door was not 'real'. No. But what was 'real'? At that moment I began to doubt my own reality.

None of it seems real. Who knows? Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s actually happening to someone else. Maybe it’s something I imagined. Maybe soon I’m going to wake up and find everything fixed with Lissa and Dimitri. We’ll all be together, and he’ll be there to smile and hold me and tell me everything ‘s going to be okay. Maybe all of this really has been a dream. But I don’t think so.

Dreams feel real while we're in them. It's only when we wake up that we realize something was actually strange.

It's not easy in this phosphorescent gloom telling waking dreams apart anyhow.

"Well, it's 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."

A dream inside a dream might not be a dream.

You think, as you walk away from Le Cirque des Rêves and into the creeping dawn, that you felt more awake within the confines of the circus. You are no longer quite certain which side of the fence is the dream.

It's hard to tell that the world we live in is either a reality or a dream.

I was ninety-nine point nine percent sure that I was dreaming.