Eugene Ionesco Quotes

For all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams.

Is a dream reality till you wake up?

The pen will never be able to move fast enough to write down every word discovered in the space of memory. Some things have been lost forever, other things will perhaps be remembered again, and still other things have been lost and found and lost again. There is no way to be sure of any this.

Life and death are nothing but the mind. Years, months, days, and hours are nothing but the mind. Dreams, illusions, and mirages are nothing but the mind. The bubbles of water and the flames of fire are nothing but the mind. The flowers of the spring and the moon of the autumn are nothing but the mind. Confusions and dangers are nothing but the mind.

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

We wake from one dream into another dream.

For this I see, that we, all we that live, Are but vain shadows, unsubstantial dreams.

Life knows us not and we do not know life—-we don’t know even our own thoughts. Half the words we use have no meaning whatever and of the other half each man understands each word after the fashion of his own folly and conceit. Faith is a myth and beliefs shift like mists on the shore; thoughts vanish; words, once pronounced, die; and the memory of yesterday is as shadowy as the hope of tomorrow

The whole series of my life appeared to me as a dream; I sometimes doubted if indeed it were all true, for it never presented itself to my mind with the force of reality.

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.

Aren't memories just dreams we have when we're awake?

Is Life itself a dream, I wonder?

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

What is life? A madness. What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story. And the greatest good is little enough; for all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams.

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

Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?

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

I can't remember any dreams in my life. There's so much strange in real life that it often seems like a dream.

Thus shall ye think of all this fleeting world: As star at dawn, a bubble in a stream A flash of lightning in a summer cloud A flickering lamp, a phantom, and a dream

What are you, Rose Hathaway? Are you real? You're a dream within a dream. I'm afraid touching you will make me wake up. You'll disappear.

Everything is only a dream.

The happiness consists in realizing that it is all a great strange dream.

Sometimes I do wake up in the mornings and feel like I've just had the most incredible dream. I've just dreamt my life

When our memories outweigh our dreams, it is then that we become old.

Fond man! the vision of a moment made! Dream of a dream! and shadow of a shade!