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?
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?
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.
