Danny DeVito Quotes

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

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

"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."

Life, what is it but a dream?

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

Once Chuang Chou dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn't know he was Chuang Chou. Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakeable Chuang Chou. But he didn't know if he was Chuang Chou who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was Chuang Chou.

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.

Is Life itself a dream, I wonder?

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

I often wonder if we were all characters in one of God's dreams.

Everything is only a dream.

Who would ever give up the reality of dreams for relative knowledge?

The world could be anything, you know, It could be a solid state matrix of some sort. It could be an illusion. It could be a dream. I mean it really could be a dream.

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

We wake from one dream into another dream.

A dream inside a dream might not be a dream.

If nothing is the way it seems, then this life is just a haunted dream.

We could all be in a turtle's dream, in outer space!

Truth and dreams are always getting muddled.

Once upon a time, I dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was myself. Soon I awaked, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man.

Brooklyn was a dream. All the things that happened there just couldn't happen. It was all dream stuff. Or was it all real and true and was it that she, Francie, was the dreamer?

Is all our Life, then but a dream Seen faintly in the golden gleam Athwart Time's dark resistless stream?

I describe in a realistic form a nonrealistic Reality.

Nothing in this world is real

By the truth we are undone. Life is a dream. 'Tis the waking that kills us. He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life.