Your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions.
— Joel 2:28

One hundred oneiric quotations to identify. One or two daydreams; one or two ambiguous cases (might be a dream, might be real). Translated works marked [*] (with one such attributed to the translator). Hints on request.


The authors:

Aeschylus, Dante Alighieri, Appollodorus, John Ashbery, Isaac Asimov

William Blake, Giovanni Boccaccio, J. L. Borges, Charlotte Bronte, Emily Bronte, Robert Browning, Mikhail Bulgakov, Anthony Burgess, William S. Burroughs, Richard Burton, Lord Byron

Lewis Carroll, Miguel Cervantes, Raymond Chandler, Geoffrey Chaucer, Agatha Christie, Emil Cioran, Arthur C. Clarke, Michael Crichton, John Crowley

Roald Dahl, Philip K. Dick, Charles Dickens, Joan Didion, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Alexandre Dumas, Lord Dunsany

Erasmus

William Faulkner, Sigmund Freud

Neil Gaiman, Théophile Gautier, William Gibson, W. S. Gilbert, Robert Graves, Ursula Le Guin

Dashiell Hammett, Thomas Hardy, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Ernest Hemingway, Frank Herbert, Herodotus, Homer, A. E. Housman, Robert E. Howard, Victor Hugo

James Joyce, Carl Jung

John Keats

Charles Lamb, Stanislaw Lem, Thomas Ligotti, H. P. Lovecraft

Thomas Malory, Saint Matthew, Daphne Du Maurier, Herman Melville, John Milton, Yukio Mishima, Margaret Mitchell, Cormac McCarthy, Moses, Alice Munro

Friedrich Nietzsche

George Orwell, Ovid, Wilfred Owen

Mervyn Peake, Fernando Pessoa, Plato

Thomas De Quincey

Mary Renault, Sax Rohmer

William Shakespeare, Mary Shelley, Elizabeth Smart, Edmund Spenser, Robert Louis Stevenson, Bram Stoker

Alfred Lord Tennyson, Dylan Thomas, James Thurber, James Tiptree Jr, J. R. R. Tolkien, Leo Tolstoy

Virgil

David Foster Wallace, Evelyn Waugh, John Webster, H. G. Wells, Walt Whitman, Gene Wolfe, William Wordsworth

Roger Zelazny, Zhuangzhi

1)
The best way to start dreaming is through books. Novels are especially helpful for the beginner. The first step is to learn to give in completely to your reading, to live totally with the characters of a novel. You’ll know you’re making progress when your own family and its troubles seem insipid and loathsome by comparison.

[*]


2)
I dreamed that out of battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which titanic wars had groined.


3)
Quoth the Wali, “And what brought thee to Cairo?”; and quoth the Baghdadi, “I saw in a dream One who said to me, Thy fortune is in Cairo; go thither to it. But when I came to Cairo the fortune which he promised me proved to be the palm-rods thou so generously gavest to me.” The Wali laughed till he showed his wisdom-teeth and said, “O man of little wit, thrice have I seen in a dream one who said to me: ‘There is in Baghdad a house in such a district and of such a fashion and its courtyard is laid out garden-wise, at the lower end whereof is a jetting-fountain and under the same a great sum of money lieth buried. Go thither and take it.’ Yet I went not; but thou, of the briefness of thy wit, hast journeyed from place to place, on the faith of a dream, which was but an idle galimatias of sleep.”

[*]


4)
A young man in Egypt passionately desired the courtesan Theonis but she demanded an enormous fee. Eventually the young man dreamed that he had sex with her and this freed him from his passion. Theonis still demanded the fee and, when he refused to pay, took him to law. The judgment of Bocchoris was that the young man should bring the sum she had demanded in a container, and he told the courtesan to be present and enjoy the vision of the money as it was carried round.

Lamia said that this judgment was not fair. ‘The young man was delivered from his desire for *her* by the apparition,’ she said, ‘but the vision of the money did not release Theonis from her desire for *it*.’


5)
He said: “I don’t know about you. I’m not sure of you. I had a dream I don’t much like.”

She smiled then. “Surely you don’t believe in dreams?”

He did not smile. “I don’t believe in anything, but I’m too much of a gambler not to be affected by a lot of things.”

Her smile became less mocking. She asked: “What was this dream that makes you mistrust me?” She held up a finger, pretending seriousness. “And then I’ll tell you one I had about you.”

“I was fishing,” he said, “and I caught an enormous fish — a rainbow trout, but enormous — and you said you wanted to look at it and you picked it up and threw it back in the water before I could stop you.”

She laughed merrily. “What did you do?”

“That was the end of the dream.”

“It was a lie,” she said. “I won’t throw your trout back. Now I’ll tell you mine. . . . ”

6)
When I was a little girl, only six years old, I one night heard Bessie Leaven say to Martha Abbot that she had been dreaming about a little child; and that to dream of children was a sure sign of trouble, either to one’s self or one’s kin. The saying might have worn out of my memory, had not a circumstance immediately followed which served indelibly to fix it there. The next day Bessie was sent for home to the deathbed of her little sister.

Of late I had often recalled this saying and this incident; for during the past week scarcely a night had gone over my couch that had not brought with it a dream of an infant, which I sometimes hushed in my arms, sometimes dandled on my knee, sometimes watched playing with daisies on a lawn, or again, dabbling its hands in running water. It was a wailing child this night, and a laughing one the next: now it nestled close to me, and now it ran from me; but whatever mood the apparition evinced, whatever aspect it wore, it failed not for seven successive nights to meet me the moment I entered the land of slumber.


7)
I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen
Guarded by an Angel mild:
Witless woe was ne’er beguiled!


8)
There had been a slight earthquake tremor the night before, the most considerable felt in New England for some years; and Wilcox‘s imagination had been keenly affected. Upon retiring, he had had an unprecedented dream of great Cyclopean cities of titan blocks and sky-flung monoliths, all dripping with green ooze and sinister with latent horror.


9)
Now the great array of gods and chariot-driving men
slept all night long, but the peaceful grip of sleep
could not hold Zeus, turning it over in his mind ...
how to exalt Achilles? — how to slaughter
hordes of Achaeans pinned against their ships?
As his spirit churned, at last one plan seemed best:
he would send a murderous dream to Agamemnon.

[*]


10)
“Why not leave it hid?” I said. “It’ll be just that much more load on the wagon. Joby says that trunk will weigh a thousand pounds.”

“A thousand fiddlesticks!” Granny said. “I don’t care if it weighed ten thousand —— ” Louvinia came in.

“They be ready,” she said. “I wish you’d tell me why you got to dig hit up tonight.”

Granny looked at her. “I had a dream about it last night.”

“Oh,” Louvinia said. She and Ringo looked exactly alike, except that Louvinia’s eyes were not rolling so much as his.

“I dreamed I was looking out my window, and a man walked into the orchard and went to where it is and stood there pointing at it,” Granny said. She looked at Louvinia. “A black man.”

“A nigger?” Louvinia said.

“Yes.”

For a while Louvinia didn’t say anything. Then she said, “Did you know him?”

“Yes,” Granny said.

“Is you going to tell who hit was?”

“No,” Granny said.

Louvinia turned to Ringo. “Gawn tell your pappy and Loosh to get the lantern and the shovels and come on up here.”

11)
I am going to have a child, so all my dreams are of water, across which the ghost of an almost accomplished calamity beckons. But tonight that child lay within like the fated and only island in all seas.


12)
They all clambered into Mikolka’s cart, laughing and making jokes. Six men got in and there was still room for more. They hauled in a fat, rosy-cheeked woman. She was dressed in red cotton, in a pointed, beaded headdress and thick leather shoes; she was cracking nuts and laughing. The crowd round them was laughing too and indeed, how could they help laughing? That wretched nag was to drag all the cartload of them at a gallop!

[*]


13)
Now, at the hour in which the heat of day,
Diffused by earth or quenched by Saturn’s arc,
No longer keeps the bright moon’s chill at bay —

When geomancers, looking eastward, mark
Fortuna Major, rising clearly through
Its pre-dawn path that’s only briefly dark —

I dreamed an ancient crone appeared in view,
Cross-eyed and crippled, utterly deprived
Of health and youth, her skin a sickly hue.

I looked at her: and as we feel revived
From chill by morning’s warmth, so my inspection
Unlocked her frozen features and contrived

To bring her twisted limbs to straight perfection;
And with the rosy colouring that sways
A lover’s heart, transformed her pale complexion.

[*]


14)
On the fourteenth night, he stroked the pulmonary artery with his forefinger, and then the entire heart, inside and out. And his inspection made him proud. He deliberately did not sleep the next night; then he took up the heart again, invoked the name of a planet, and set about dreaming another of the major organs. Before the year was out he had reached the skeleton, the eyelids.

[*]


15)
“ . . . Can you tell me the dream?”

“A horse,” Orr said huskily, still bewildered by sleep. He sat up. “It was about a horse. That one,” and he waved his hand toward the picture-window-size mural that decorated Haber’s office, a photograph of the great racing stallion Tammany Hall at play in a grassy paddock.

“What did you dream about it?” Haber said, pleased. He had not been sure hypnosuggestion would work on dream content in a first hypnosis.

“It was . . . I was walking in this field, and it was off in the distance for a while. Then it came galloping at me, and after a while I realized it was going to run me down. I wasn’t scared at all, though. I figured perhaps I could catch its bridle, or swing up and ride it. I knew that actually it couldn’t hurt me because it was the horse in your picture, not a real one. It was all a sort of game . . . Dr. Haber, does anything about that picture strike you as . . . as unusual?”

“Well, some people find it overdramatic for a shrink’s office, a bit overwhelming. A life-size sex symbol right opposite the couch!” He laughed.

“Was it there an hour ago? I mean, wasn’t that a view of Mount Hood, when I came in — before I dreamed about the horse?”

16)
— Heard ye the dream, to tell it forth aright?

— Yea, from herself; her womb a serpent bare.

— What then the sum and issue of the tale?

— Even as a swaddled child, she lull’d the thing.

— What suckling craved the creature, born full-fanged?

— Yet in her dreams she proffered it the breast.

— How? did the hateful thing not bite her teat?

— Yea, and sucked forth a blood-gout in the milk.

— Not vain this dream — it bodes a man’s revenge.

[*]


17)
I am a draper mad with love. I love you more than all the flannelette and calico, candlewick, dimity, crash and merino, tussore, cretonne, crepon, muslin, poplin, ticking and twill in the whole Cloth Hall of the world.


18)
“The first street that I entered was deserted. I entered a second street. Behind the angle formed by the two streets, a man was standing erect against the wall. I said to this man:—

‘What country is this? Where am I?’ The man made no reply. . . . ”

[*]


19)
And bound on that journey you find your attorney (who started that morning from Devon);
He’s a bit undersized, and you don’t feel surprised when he tells you he’s only eleven.


20)
In the dark before daybreak, the girl woke me going away. I had been dreaming; and, being wakened, remembered my dream. I had seen the Hyperborean sanctuary, great hoists and engines standing against a gray sky, great stones rising, and kings leaning on the levers. And a thought came to me, sent straight from the god.

I got up, and went out to the yard of the Palace woodman. Dawn scarcely glimmered; not even the slaves were astir, it was only in the fields that men were waking. It was almost too dark to find what I needed; but I should have to take it with me, for no man puts a tool to the oaks of Zeus. I found a short thick log and two longer ones, whose ends I trimmed to wedges. I bound them up, and getting them unhandily on my shoulders — for I was not used to carrying burdens — set out for the oak wood.

Sunrise glowed red as I climbed along the gorge; when I reached the grove, I saw the altar-slab all scattered with brightness, like the harper’s robe. I put down my load, and prayed to Apollo.

“Paian Apollo,” I said to him, “Apollo Longsight! If I am offending any god by this, send me an omen.”

I looked up. Blue had come into the sky; and wheeling high above I saw an eagle. He tilted his wing and swept away to the left, and the boughs hid him. “Well,” I thought, “no god could say better than that,” and then, “I should have come before to him.” For I had felt too much and reasoned too little, hearing what I was ready to hear, not what had been said. There had been nothing at all about raising the stone with my bare hands; only that I must do it alone.

21)
“Changes are coming,” said the buffalo without moving its lips. “There are certain decisions that will have to be made.”

Firelight flickered from wet cave walls.


22)
This time, I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind, and the driving of the snow; I heard, also, the fir bough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed it to the right cause: but it annoyed me so much, that I resolved to silence it, if possible; and, I thought, I rose and endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the staple: a circumstance observed by me when awake, but forgotten. “I must stop it, nevertheless!” I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand!


23)
When he was set down on the judgment seat, his wife sent unto him, saying, Have thou nothing to do with that just man: for I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of him.

[*]


24)
“Lo, there ye stand, my children,” said the figure, in a deep and solemn tone, almost sad with its despairing awfulness, as if his once angelic nature could yet mourn for our miserable race. “Depending upon one another’s hearts, ye had still hoped that virtue were not all a dream. Now are ye undeceived. Evil is the nature of mankind. Evil must be your only happiness. Welcome again, my children, to the communion of your race.”


25)
And as the king lay in his cabin in the ship, he fell in a slumbering and dreamed a marvellous dream: him seemed that a dreadful dragon did drown much of his people, and he came flying out of the west, and his head was enamelled with azure, and his shoulders shone as gold, his belly like mails of a marvellous hue, his tail full of tatters, his feet full of fine sable, and his claws like fine gold; and an hideous flame of fire flew out of his mouth, like as the land and water had flamed all of fire. After, him seemed there came out of the orient, a grimly boar all black in a cloud, and his paws as big as a post; he was rugged looking roughly, he was the foulest beast that ever man saw, he roared and romed so hideously that it were marvel to hear. Then the dreadful dragon advanced him and came in the wind like a falcon giving great strokes on the boar, and the boar hit him again with his grizzly tusks that his breast was all bloody, and that the hot blood made all the sea red of his blood. Then the dragon flew away all on an height, and came down with such a swough, and smote the boar on the ridge, which was ten foot large from the head to the tail, and smote the boar all to powder both flesh and bones, that it flittered all abroad on the sea.

26)
Billy?

What.

I had this dream.

What dream.

I had it twice.

Well what was it.

There was this big fire out on the dry lake.

There aint nothin to burn on a dry lake.

I know it.

What happened.

These people were burnin. The lake was on fire and they was burnin up.

It’s probably somethin you ate.

I had the same dream twice.

Maybe you ate the same thing twice.

I dont think so.


27)
It was late when I fell asleep. Though I was angry with old Cotter for alluding to me as a child, I puzzled my head to extract meaning from his unfinished sentences. In the dark of my room I imagined that I saw again the heavy grey face of the paralytic. I drew the blankets over my head and tried to think of Christmas. But the grey face still followed me. It murmured; and I understood that it desired to confess something. I felt my soul receding into some pleasant and vicious region; and there again I found it waiting for me. It began to confess to me in a murmuring voice and I wondered why it smiled continually and why the lips were so moist with spittle. But then I remembered that it had died of paralysis and I felt that I too was smiling feebly as if to absolve the simoniac of his sin.


28)
‘At twenty-eight minutes past three,’ Benedict Farley said hoarsely, ‘I open the second drawer down on the right of my desk, take out the revolver that I keep there, load it and walk over to the window. And then — and then — ’

‘Yes?’

Benedict Farley said in a whisper:

‘*I shoot myself* . . . ’


29)
’Twas in the dead of night, when sleep repairs
Our bodies worn with toils, our minds with cares,
When Hector’s ghost before my sight appears:
A bloody shroud he seem’d, and bath’d in tears;
Such as he was, when, by Pelides slain,
Thessalian coursers dragg’d him o’er the plain.

[*]


30)
The mist grew thicker and thicker and I could see now how it came in, for I could see it like smoke — or with the white energy of boiling water — pouring in, not through the window, but through the joinings of the door. It got thicker and thicker, till it seemed as if it became concentrated into a sort of pillar of cloud in the room, through the top of which I could see the light of the gas shining like a red eye. Things began to whirl through my brain just as the cloudy column was now whirling in the room, and through it all came the scriptural words “a pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night.” Was it indeed some such spiritual guidance that was coming to me in my sleep? But the pillar was composed of both the day and the night-guiding, for the fire was in the red eye, which at the thought got a new fascination for me; till, as I looked, the fire divided, and seemed to shine on me through the fog like two red eyes, such as Lucy told me of in her momentary mental wandering when, on the cliff, the dying sunlight struck the windows of St. Mary’s Church.

31)
“What did you dream last night? Was it worth remembering?”

“Yes.” Paul closed his eyes. “I dreamed a cavern ... and water ... and a girl there — very skinny with big eyes. Her eyes are all blue, no whites in them. . . . ”


32)
At length lassitude succeeded to the tumult I had before endured, and I threw myself on the bed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness. But it was in vain; I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of Ingolstadt. Delighted and surprised, I embraced her, but as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with the hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her form, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel. I started from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my forehead, my teeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed . . .


33)
“I also saw robots working in space,” said Elvex. “It was that I saw all this, with the details forever changing as I glanced from place to place, that made me realize that what I saw was not in accord with reality and led me to the conclusion, finally, that I was dreaming.”

“What else did you see, Elvex?”

“I saw that all the robots were bowed down with toil and affliction, that all were weary of responsibility and care, and I wished them to rest.”


34)
In saying this I have been running into a digression; but the point which I desire to note is that in all of us, even in good men, there is a lawless wild-beast nature, which peers out in sleep. Pray, consider whether I am right, and you agree with me.

[*]


35)
They were the same statues, rich in form, in attraction, and poesy, with eyes of fascination, smiles of love, and bright and flowing hair. They were Phryne, Cleopatra, Messalina, those three celebrated courtesans. Then among them glided like a pure ray, like a Christian angel in the midst of Olympus, one of those chaste figures, those calm shadows, those soft visions, which seemed to veil its virgin brow before these marble wantons.

Then the three statues advanced towards him with looks of love, and approached the couch on which he was reposing, their feet hidden in their long white tunics, their throats bare, hair flowing like waves, and assuming attitudes which the gods could not resist, but which saints withstood, and looks inflexible and ardent like those with which the serpent charms the bird; and then he gave way before looks that held him in a torturing grasp and delighted his senses as with a voluptuous kiss.

[*]

36)
“Nicris was removed whilst you all made merry within the house!”

“But, my dear Mr. Klaw, Searles, Coram, and I saw the statue long after that — some time about one o’clock!”

“Wrong, my friend! You saw the model!”

“What! Nina?”

“Madame Colette, whom you knew in Paris as Nina — yes! Listen — when I drop off to sleep here and dream that I am afraid for what may happen to some very large man, I dream, also, that I fear to be touched! I look down at myself, and I am beautiful! I am ivory of limb and decked with gold! I creep, so cautiously, out of the studio (in my dream — you would call it a dream), and I know, when I wake, that I must have been Nicris! . . . ”


37)
He saw the thing the shell of gray paper had concealed. Horror. The spiral birth factory, stepped terraces of the hatching cells, blind jaws of the unborn moving ceaselessly, the staged progress from egg to larva, near-wasp, wasp. In his mind’s eye, a kind of time-lapse photography took place, revealing the thing as the biological equivalent of a machine gun, hideous in its perfection.


38)
A stranger comes and tells me he has killed someone. He is not wanted by the police because no one suspects him. I am the only one who knows he is the killer. What am I to do? I lack the courage as well as the treachery (for he has entrusted me with a secret — and what a secret!) to turn him in. I feel I am his accomplice, and resign myself to being arrested and punished as such. At the same time, I tell myself this would be too ridiculous. Perhaps I shall go and denounce him all the same. And so on, until I wake up.

The interminable is the specialty of the indecisive. They cannot mark life out for their own, and still less their dreams, in which they perpetuate their hesitations, pusillanimities, scruples. They are ideally qualified for nightmare.

[*]


39)
“Such a queer dream, King-Post, I never had. You know the old man’s ivory leg, well I dreamed he kicked me with it; and when I tried to kick back, upon my soul, my little man, I kicked my leg right off! . . . ”


40)
She was in a wild strange country so thick with swirling mist she could not see her hand before her face. The earth beneath her feet was uneasy. It was a haunted land, still with a terrible stillness, and she was lost in it, lost and terrified as a child in the night. She was bitterly cold and hungry and so fearful of what lurked in the mists about her that she tried to scream and could not. There were things in the fog reaching out fingers to pluck at her skirt, to drag her down into the uneasy quaking earth on which she stood, silent, relentless, spectral hands. Then, she knew that somewhere in the opaque gloom about her there was shelter, help, a haven of refuge and warmth. But where was it? Could she reach it before the hands clutched her and dragged her down into the quicksands?

41)
“You are heedless and intractable. You have proved it beyond all question.”

He looked down at his chest when Iinuma spoke. A necklace of crescent-shaped stones, dark maroon and purple, now hung around his neck. The stones were cold and as they touched his skin they sent a chill through his body. His chest felt like a flat, heavy rock.

[*]


42)
When she got outside she remembered. She remembered that she had a left a baby out there somewhere, before the snow had fallen. Quite a while before the snow had fallen. This memory, this certainty, came over her with horror. It was as if she was awakening from a dream. Within her dream she awakened from a dream, to a knowledge of her responsibility and mistake. She had left her baby out overnight, she had forgotten about it. Left it exposed somewhere as if it was a doll she tired of. And perhaps it was not last night but a week or a month ago that she had done this. For a whole season or for many seasons she had left her baby out. She had been occupied in other ways. She might even have travelled away from here and just returned, forgetting what she was returning to.


43)
“We are not of Alice, nor of thee, nor are we children at all. The children of Alice called Bartrum father. We are nothing; less than nothing, and dreams. We are only what might have been, and must wait upon the tedious shores of Lethe millions of ages before we have existence, and a name” . . .


44)
Morpheus flies through the dark with wings that make no noise, and in a short space of intervening time arrives at the Haemonian city; and, laying aside his wings from off his body, he assumes the form of Ceyx; and in that form, wan, and like one without blood, without garments, he stands before the bed of his wretched wife. The beard of the hero appears to be dripping, and the water to be falling thickly from his soaking hair. Then leaning on the bed, with tears running down his face, he says these words: “My most wretched wife, dost thou recognise thy Ceyx, or are my looks so changed with death? . . . ”

[*]


45)
When silence came, the artiste said:

‘See what La Fontaine fables I have to listen to! Stuck him with four hundred dollars! Now, all of you here are currency dealers, so I address you as experts: is that conceivable?’

‘We’re not currency dealers,’ various offended voices came from the theatre, ‘but, no, it’s not conceivable!’

‘I’m entirely of the same mind,’ the artiste said firmly, ‘and let me ask you: what is it that one can be stuck with?’

‘A baby!’ someone cried from the house.

‘Absolutely correct,’ the programme announcer confirmed, ‘a baby, an anonymous letter, a tract, an infernal machine, anything else, but no one will stick you with four hundred dollars, for such idiots don’t exist in nature.’

[*]

46)
I dream’d in a dream I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the whole of the rest of the earth,
I dream’d that was the new city of Friends . . .


47)
Now Croesus had two sons, of whom one was deficient, seeing that he was deaf and dumb, while the other far surpassed his companions of the same age in all things: and the name of this last was Atys. As regards this Atys then, the dream signified to Croesus that he should lose him by the blow of an iron spear-point: and when he rose up from sleep and considered the matter with himself, he was struck with fear on account of the dream; and first he took for his son a wife; and whereas his son had been wont to lead the armies of the Lydians, he now no longer sent him forth anywhere on any such business; and the javelins and lances and all such things which men use for fighting he conveyed out of the men’s apartments and piled them up in the inner bed-chambers, for fear lest something hanging up might fall down upon his son.

[*]


48)
In a dream, in my last morning dream, I stood today upon a headland – beyond the world, I held a pair of scales and *weighed* the world.

[*]


49)
‘ . . . I come to ask for counsel and the unravelling of hard words. For on the eve of the sudden assault a dream came to my brother in a troubled sleep; and afterwards a like dream came oft to him again, and once to me.

In that dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying:

*Seek for the Sword that was broken* . . . ’


50)
A FEW DAYS LATER the dreams began. She was in touch with a member of a shadowy Syndicate. Sometimes the contact was Freddy Chaikin, sometimes an F.B.I. man she had met once in New York and not thought of since. Certain phrases remained constant. Always he explained that he was “part of that operation.” Always he wanted to discuss a “business proposition.” Always he mentioned a plan to use the house in Beverly Hills for “purposes which would in no way concern” her. She need only supply certain information: the condition of the plumbing, the precise width of the pipes, the location and size of all the clean-outs. Workmen appeared, rooms were prepared. The man in the white duck pants materialized and then the doctor, in his rubber apron. At that point she would fight for consciousness but she was never able to wake herself before the dream revealed its inexorable intention, before the plumbing stopped up, before they all fled and left her there, gray water bubbling up in every sink. Of course she could not call a plumber, because she had known all along what would be found in the pipes, what hacked pieces of human flesh.

51)
A large number of dreams, often full of fear, which are concerned with passing through narrow spaces or with staying in the water, are based upon fancies about the embryonic life, about the sojourn in the mother’s womb, and about the act of birth.

[*]


52)
. . . and thus, without a moment’s gladness, she abode expecting him alway, till one night, having sore lamented Lorenzo for that he returned not and being at last fallen asleep, weeping, he appeared to her in a dream, pale and all disordered, with clothes all rent and mouldered, and herseemed he bespoke her thus: ‘Harkye, Lisabetta; thou dost nought but call upon me, grieving for my long delay and cruelly impeaching me with thy tears. Know, therefore, that I may never more return to thee, for that, the last day thou sawest me, thy brothers slew me.’

[*]


53)
I bestrode a great, leather-winged being under a lowering sky. Just equipoised between the rack of cloud and a twilit land we slid down a hill of air. Hardly once, it seemed to me, the finger-winged soarer flapped her long pinions. The dying sun was before us, and it seemed we matched the speed of Urth, for it stood unmoving at the horizon, though we flew on and on.


54)
Gately’s good left hand skins a knuckle shooting out between the bars of the bedside crib-railing and plunging under the M.D.’s lab-coat and fastening onto the guy’s balls and bearing down. The Pakistani pharmacologist screams like a woman. It isn’t rage or the will to harm so much as just no other ideas for keeping the bastard from offering something Gately knows that he’s powerless at this moment to refuse. The sudden exertion sends a blue-green sheet of pain over Gately that makes his eyes roll up as he bears down on the balls, but not enough to crush. The Pakistani curtsies deeply and bends forward, crumpling around Gately’s hand, showing all 112 teeth as he screams higher and higher until he hits a jagged high note like a big opera lady in a Viking helmet so shattering it makes the crib-railings and windowglass shiver and woke Don Gately up with a start, his left arm through the railing and twisted with the force of his attempt to sit up so that the pain now made him hit almost the same high note as the dream’s foreign M.D.


55)
“Come in,” Arctor said. He reached to snap on a bedside lamp.

Barris entered, eyes twinkling. “Still awake?”

“A dream woke me,” Arctor said. “A religious dream. In it there was this huge clap of thunder, and all of a sudden the heavens rolled aside and God appeared and His voice rumbled at me — what the hell did He say? — oh yeah. ‘I am vexed with you, my son,’ He said. He was scowling. I was shaking, in the dream, and looking up, and I said, ‘What’d I do now, Lord?’ And He said, ‘You left the cap off the toothpaste tube again.’ And then I realized it was my ex-wife.”

56)
I dreamed that I was walking in the dark and was suddenly surrounded by dogs, but I went on undismayed. Suddenly a smallish dog seized my left thigh with its teeth and would not let go. I began to throttle it with my hands. Scarcely had I torn it off before another, a bigger one, began biting me. I lifted it up, but the higher I lifted it the bigger and heavier it grew. . . .

[*]


57)
He was in his shirt, which was not long enough in front to cover his thighs completely and was six fingers shorter behind; his legs were very long and lean, covered with hair, and anything but clean; on his head he had a little greasy red cap that belonged to the host, round his left arm he had rolled the blanket of the bed, to which Sancho, for reasons best known to himself, owed a grudge, and in his right hand he held his unsheathed sword, with which he was slashing about on all sides, uttering exclamations as if he were actually fighting some giant: and the best of it was his eyes were not open, for he was fast asleep, and dreaming that he was doing battle with the giant.

[*]


58)
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sigh’d full sore,
And there I shut her wild, wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream’d, Ah! Woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dreamt
On the cold hill side.


59)
Still they flew closer. They came nearer and nearer, right up in front of my face so that I saw only the black crosses which stood out brightly against the colour of the Messerschmitts and against the blue of the sky; and as I turned my head quickly from one side to the other I saw more aircraft and more crosses and then I saw nothing but the arms of the crosses and the blue of the sky. The arms had hands and they joined together and made a circle and danced around my Gladiator, while the engines of the Messerschmitts sang joyfully in a deep voice. They were playing Oranges and Lemons and every now and then two would detach themselves and come out into the middle of the floor and make an attack and I knew then that it was Oranges and Lemons. They banked and swerved and danced upon their toes and they leant against the air first to one side, then to the other. “Oranges and Lemons said the bells of St Clement’s,” sang the engines.


60)
“Stand still,” he ordered.

He willed the walls to fall down. They swam in shadow.

“Stand still!” he repeated urgently. “Don’t do anything. “Try not even to think.

— Fall down!” he cried. And the walls were blasted in all directions and the roof was flung over the top of the world, and they stood amid ruins lighted by a single taper. The might was black as pitch.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, still holding the goblet out toward him.

61)
My dreams are of a field afar
And blood and smoke and shot.
There in their graves my comrades are,
In my grave I am not.


62)
It floats there visibly engorged, blue-green against the blackness. He stares: it swells, pulsing to a terrifying dim beat, slowly extrudes a great ghostly bulge which extends, solidifies . . . it is a planet-testicle pushing a monster penis towards the stars.


63)
I couldn’t sleep until the next morning at dawn, and then I had a nightmare every time I dozed off. In one dream, I was coming down with rabies. I looked in the mirror and my face changed and I began howling. In another dream, I had a chlorophyll habit. Me and about five other chlorophyll addicts are waiting to score on the landing of a cheap Mexican hotel. We turn green and no one can kick a chlorophyll habit. One shot and you’re hung for life. We are turning into plants.


64)
Ah, but the last sight was the hideous!
A City, yes,— a Forest, true,—
But each devouring each. Perfidious
Snake-plants had strangled what I knew
Was a pavilion once: each oak
Held on his horns some spoil he broke
By surreptitiously beneath
Upthrusting . . .


65)
He held the line tight in his right hand and then pushed his thigh against his right hand as he leaned all his weight against the wood of the bow. Then he passed the line a little lower on his shoulders and braced his left hand on it.

My right hand can hold it as long as it is braced, he thought. If it relaxes in sleep my left hand will wake me as the line goes out. It is hard on the right hand. But he is used to punishment. Even if I sleep twenty minutes or a half an hour it is good. He lay forward cramping himself against the line with all of his body, putting all his weight onto his right hand, and he was asleep.

He did not dream of the lions but instead of a vast school of porpoises that stretched for eight or ten miles and it was in the time of their mating and they would leap high into the air and return into the same hole they had made in the water when they leaped.

Then he dreamed that he was in the village on his bed and there was a norther and he was very cold and his right arm was asleep because his head had rested on it instead of a pillow.

After that he began to dream of the long yellow beach and he saw the first of the lions come down onto it in the early dark and then the other lions came and he rested his chin on the wood of the bows where the ship lay anchored with the evening off-shore breeze and he waited to see if there would be more lions and he was happy.

The moon had been up for a long time but he slept on and the fish pulled on steadily and the boat moved into the tunnel of clouds.

66)
— I had a very strange dream to-night.

— What was’t?

— Methought I wore my coronet of state,
And on a sudden all the diamonds
Were chang’d to pearls.

— My interpretation
Is, you’ll weep shortly; for to me the pearls
Do signify your tears.

— The birds that live i’ th’ field
On the wild benefit of nature live
Happier than we; for they may choose their mates,
And carol their sweet pleasures to the spring.


67)
“I dreamt that I had learned a way of saving time I didn’t want to spend, and having it to spend when I needed it. Like the time you spend waiting in a doctor’s office, or coming back from someplace you didn’t enjoy going to, or waiting for a bus — all the little useless spaces. Well, it was a matter of taking them and folding them up, like broken boxes, so that they took up less room. It was really an easy trick, once you knew you could do it. Nobody seemed surprised at all when I told them I’d learned how; Mother just nodded and smiled, you know, as though of course everybody learns at a certain age how to do these things. Just break it along the seams; be careful not to lose any; fold it flat. Daddy gave me this enormous envelope of sort of marbled paper to put it all in, and when he gave it to me I remembered seeing envelopes like that around, and wondering what they were for. Funny how you can make up memories in dreams to explain the story.”


68)
. . . . and while yet
I looked and looked, self-questioned what this freight
Which the new-comer carried through the waste
Could mean, the Arab told me that the stone
(To give it in the language of the dream)
Was “Euclid’s Elements;” and “This,” said he,
“Is something of more worth;” and at the word
Stretched forth the shell, so beautiful in shape,
In colour so resplendent, with command
That I should hold it to my ear.


69)
“It is not against men I must shield you. There are dark worlds barely guessed by man, wherein formless monsters stalk — fiends which may be drawn from the Outer Voids to take material shape and rend and devour at the bidding of evil magicians. There is a serpent in your house, oh king — an adder in your kingdom, come up from Stygia, with the dark wisdom of the shadows in his murky soul. As a sleeping man dreams of the serpent which crawls near him, I have felt the foul presence of Set’s neophyte. He is drunk with terrible power, and the blows he strikes at his enemy may well bring down the kingdom. I have called you to me, to give you a weapon against him and his hellhound pack.”


70)
“And that was the end?” I asked.

He seemed to hesitate. Then, almost inaudibly, he answered, “NO.”

“You mean?”

“I couldn’t get to her. She was there on the other side of the temple — And then — ”

"Yes,” I insisted. “Yes?”

“Nightmares,” he cried; “nightmares indeed! My God! Great birds that fought and tore.”

71)
The first son born to her was Hector; and when a second babe was about to be born Hecuba dreamed she had brought forth a firebrand, and that the fire spread over the whole city and burned it. When Priam learned of the dream from Hecuba, he sent for his son Aesacus, for he was an interpreter of dreams, having been taught by his mother’s father Merops. He declared that the child was begotten to be the ruin of his country and advised that the babe should be exposed.

[*]


72)
This foresaid Africane me hent anon,
And forth with him unto a gate brought
Right of a park, walled with greene stone;
And o’er the gate, with letters large y-wrought,
There were verses written, as me thought,
On either half, of full great difference,
Of which I shall you say the plain sentence.


73)
The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man’s hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.


74)
But the marvel of that place was the dreams of Gaznak; for beyond the wide court slept a dark abyss, and into the abyss there poured a white cascade of marble stairways, and widened out below into terraces and balconies with fair white statues on them, and descended again in a wide stairway, and came to lower terraces in the dark, where swart uncertain shapes went to and fro. All these were the dreams of Gaznak, and issued from his mind, and, becoming marble, passed over the edge of the abyss as the musicians played.


75)
Never before and never afterwards have such apparitions appeared to me. I decided to write them down, and that’s how I’m able to say anything at all about them; but these are only fragments devoid of almost all their terrifying richness. In circumstances that were essentially inexpressible, I seemed to find myself in places devoid of sky, earth, floors, ceilings, or walls, as if I were shrunken or imprisoned in a substance that was alien to me, as if my whole body had become part of some half-dead, unmoving, shapeless lump. Or, rather, that I myself was that lump, deprived of flesh, surrounded by at first indistinct pale pink patches suspended in a medium with different optical properties than air, such that it was only from very close up things became clear, even excessively and supernaturally so, because in those dreams of mine my immediate surroundings were more concrete and material than anything I experienced awake. Whenever I woke up I had the paradoxical feeling that the real waking life was in fact the other one, and that what I saw when I opened my eyes was nothing but its wizened shadow.

[*]

76)
“What happened to the cross?” asked Helena.

“Oh they threw those away, all three of them. They had to, you know, by law.”

“Where did they put them? Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“I want that cross.”

“Yes, come to think of it I expect there’ll be quite a demand for anything to do with the Galilean now that he’s suddenly become so popular and respectable.”

“Could you show me where it is?”

“I reckon so.”

“I am rich. Tell me your price.”


77)
How that personage haunted my dreams, I need scarcely tell you. On stormy nights, when the wind shook the four corners of the house and the surf roared along the cove and up the cliffs, I would see him in a thousand forms, and with a thousand diabolical expressions. Now the leg would be cut off at the knee, now at the hip; now he was a monstrous kind of a creature who had never had but the one leg, and that in the middle of his body. To see him leap and run and pursue me over hedge and ditch was the worst of nightmares.


78)
There he him found all carelesly displayd,
In secret shadow from the sunny ray,
On a sweet bed of lillies softly layd,
Amidst a flocke of Damzels fresh and gay,
That round about him dissolute did play
Their wanton follies, and light meriment;
Every of which did loosely disaray
Her upperparts of meet habiliments,
And shewd them naked, deckt with many ornaments.


79)
Peter Elliot’s difficulties began on the morning of February 2, 1979. Amy lived in a mobile home on the Berkeley campus; she spent nights there alone, and usually provided an effusive greeting the next day. However, on that morning the Project Amy staff found her in an uncharacteristic sullen mood; she was irritable and bleary-eyed, behaving as if she had been wronged in some fashion.

Elliot felt that something had upset her during the night. When asked, she kept making signs for “sleep box,” a new word pairing he did not understand.


80)
In the whitened hallway — I can not say brightened, because it is almost as if a fluorescent powder coats everything — there are things that look like people dressed as dolls, or else dolls made up to look like people. I remember being confused about which it was. And they are lying up and down the floor, at the top of the stairway, and even upon the stairs themselves as they disappear into the darker regions below. When I emerge from the bedroom, I see their eyes shining in the white darkness, and their heads are turned in all directions. Paralyzed — yes! — with terror, I merely return a fixed gaze, wondering if my eyes are shining the same as theirs. Then one of the doll people, slouching against the wall on my left, turns its head haltingly upon a stiff little neck and looks straight at me. Worse, it talks. And its voice is a horrible parody of human speech. Even more horrible are its words when it says: “Become as we are, sweetie. Die *in*to us.”

81)
Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.


82)
That I had a fever and was avoided, that I suffered greatly, that I often lost my reason, that the time seemed interminable, that I confounded impossible existences with my own identity; that I was a brick in the house-wall, and yet entreating to be released from the giddy place where the builders had set me; that I was a steel beam of a vast engine, clashing and whirling over a gulf, and yet that I implored in my own person to have the engine stopped, and my part in it hammered off; that I passed through these phases of disease, I know of my own remembrance, and did in some sort know at the time. . . .


83)
A change came o’er the spirit of my dream.
The Wanderer was alone as heretofore,
The beings which surrounded him were gone,
Or were at war with him; he was a mark
For blight and desolation, compassed round
With Hatred and Contention; Pain was mixed
In all which was served up to him, until,
Like to the Pontic monarch of old days,
He fed on poisons, and they had no power,
But were a kind of nutriment; he lived
Through that which had been death to many men,
And made him friends of mountains; with the stars
And the quick Spirit of the Universe
He held his dialogues: and they did teach
To him the magic of their mysteries;
To him the book of Night was opened wide,
And voices from the deep abyss revealed
A marvel and a secret. — Be it so.


84)
Years ago — how long was it? Seven years it must be — he had dreamed that he was walking through a pitch-dark room. And someone sitting to one side of him had said as he passed: ‘We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness.’ It was said very quietly, almost casually — a statement, not a command. He had walked on without pausing. What was curious was that at the time, in the dream, the words had not made much impression on him. It was only later and by degrees that they had seemed to take on significance.


85)
“You’ve had your ceiling painted blue,” I said to Karr who, impassive and silent, had started another pipe and was puffing out more smoke than a stove pipe in winter or a steamboat in any season.

“Not at all, dear fellow,” he replied, his nose emerging from the cloud, “but you most definitely seem to have painted your stomach red, with the aid of Bordeaux more or less Laffitte.”

“Heavens, why don’t you tell the truth — all I’ve drunk is a wretched glass of sugared water, in which a horde of ants have quenched their thirst, a swimming-school for insects.”

“The ceiling probably got bored with being black and turned blue. Apart from women, I know nothing more capricious than ceilings. It’s just a ceiling’s caprice really, nothing out of the ordinary.”

[*]

86)
And he lighted upon a certain place, and tarried there all night, because the sun was set; and he took of the stones of that place, and put them for his pillows, and lay down in that place to sleep.

And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven: and behold the angels of God ascending and descending on it.

[*]


87)
To eat heartily, dress warmly, lie snugly
And earn respect as a leading citizen
Granted long credit at all shops and inns –

How dangerous! I had feared this shag demon
Would not conform with my conformity
And in some leaner belly make his lair.

But now in dream he suddenly bestrides me. . . .


88)
He dived shortly after from a high tarrass into sleep. The dreams he had were enacted at some very deep level of his brain. There were not unhappy dreams, but their ingredients were unpleasant. He saw great crowds bearing down on him, familiar faces that he knew he had never seen before, mostly faces of the low, sweaty on the cheeks and jowls, bad-toothed, stinking of old garments that stank of rancid mutton stew and old brown earwax. The black pegged mouths roared at him, whether in anger or laughter or love he could not tell. But his own answering roar was a mirthful one, delivered from a high pillar to which he clung with lusty embracing arms and legs. He shouted words of occult meaning which he knew were also nonsense. At the same time, by some contorting miracle, he threw off various of his garments, of which he seemed to have many (a whole playhouse wardrobe), and hurled them at the crowd. In mid-air they changed to cuts of red flesh, inner organs, ribs, three necks (he smiled in his dream at the absurdity of it), and they were seized without thanks by filthy hands with ragged nails and then devoured with juicy munching.


89)
“ . . . About halfway up to the moon, however, a man who looked like Santa Claus, only he was dressed in the uniform of a customs officer, waved at me to stop — he was in a plane made of telephone wires too. So I pulled over to a cloud. ‘Here,’ he said to me, ‘you can’t go to the moon, if you are the man who invented these wedding cookies.’ Then he showed me a cookie in the shape of a man and woman being married, made of dough and fastened firmly to a round, crisp cookie base.”


90)
I went to bed full of whiskey and frustration and dreamed about a man in a bloody Chinese coat who chased a naked girl with long jade earrings while I ran after them and tried to take a photograph with an empty camera.

91)
When in the down I sink my head,
Sleep, Death’s twin-brother, times my breath;
Sleep, Death’s twin-brother, knows not Death,
Nor can I dream of thee as dead:

I walk as ere I walk’d forlorn,
When all our path was fresh with dew,
And all the bugle breezes blew
Reveillée to the breaking morn.


92)
All before had been moral and spiritual terrors. But here the main agents were ugly birds, or snakes, or crocodiles; especially the last. The cursed crocodile became to me the object of more horror than almost all the rest. I was compelled to live with him, and (as was always the case almost in my dreams) for centuries. I escaped sometimes, and found myself in Chinese houses, with cane tables, &c. All the feet of the tables, sofas, &c., soon became instinct with life: the abominable head of the crocodile, and his leering eyes, looked out at me, multiplied into a thousand repetitions; and I stood loathing and fascinated.


93)
. . . . Forthwith up to the Clouds
With him I flew, and underneath beheld
The Earth outstretcht immense, a prospect wide
And various: wondring at my flight and change
To this high exaltation; suddenly
My Guide was gon, and I, me thought, sunk down,
And fell asleep; but O how glad I wak’d
To find this but a dream!


94)
That night was an eventful one to Eustacia’s brain, and one which she hardly ever forgot. She dreamt a dream; and few human beings, from Nebuchadnezzar to the Swaffham tinker, ever dreamt a more remarkable one. Such an elaborately developed, perplexing, exciting dream was certainly never dreamed by a girl in Eustacia’s situation before. It had as many ramifications as the Cretan labyrinth, as many fluctuations as the northern lights, as much colour as a parterre in June, and was as crowded with figures as a coronation. To Queen Scheherazade the dream might have seemed not far removed from commonplace; and to a girl just returned from all the courts of Europe it might have seemed not more than interesting. But amid the circumstances of Eustacia’s life it was as wonderful as a dream could be.


95)
“Jonah, dear, are you all right?” said the old, old lady.

“Of course I am. What is it, squirrel?” The old man smoothed his beard.

“I must have dropped off to sleep.”

“I wondered . . . I wondered.”

“I dreamed a dream,” said the old lady.

“What was it about?”

“I don’t remember — something about the sun.”

“The sun?”

“The great round sun that warmed us long ago.”

“Yes, I remember it.”

“And the rays of it? The long, sweet rays.”

“Where were we then?”

“Somewhere in the South of the world.”

The old lady pursed her lips. Her eyes were very tired. Her hands went on and on and on with their disentangling of the wool, and the old man watched her as though she were of all things the most lovely.

96)
“ . . . Are you ready?”

“Not yet. I would like to ask a question.”

“What is it?”

“Will I dream?”

“Of course you will. All intelligent creatures dream — but no one knows why.”


97)
I recall one dream of my own that I found difficult to interpret. In this dream, a certain man was trying to get behind me and jump on my back. I knew nothing of this man except that I was aware that he had somehow picked up a remark I had made and had twisted it into a grotesque travesty of my meaning. But I could not see the connection between this fact and his attempt in the dream to jump on me. In my professional life, however, it has often happened that someone has misrepresented what I have said — so often that I have scarcely bothered to wonder whether this kind of misrepresentation makes me angry. Now there is a certain value in keeping a conscious control over one’s emotional reactions; and this, I soon realized, was the point the dream had made. It had taken an Austrian colloquialism and translated it into a pictorial image. This phrase, common enough in ordinary speech, is *Du kannst mir auf den Buckel steigen* (You can climb on my back), which means “I don’t care what you say about me.” An American equivalent, which could easily appear in a similar dream, would be “Go jump in the lake.”


98)
Once Zhuang Zhou dreamed he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn’t know he was Zhuang Zhou. Suddenly he woke up, and there he was, solid and unmistakable Zhuang Zhou. But he didn’t know if he were Zhuang Zhou who had dreamed he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuang Zhou. Between Zhuang Zhou and a butterfly, there must be some distinction!

[*]


99)
How limited, but how complete withal, has been our experience of Guadalajara!
We have seen young love, married love, and the love of an aged mother for her son.
We have heard the music, tasted the drinks, and looked at colored houses.
What more is there to do, except stay? And that we cannot do.
And as a last breeze freshens the top of the weathered old tower, I turn my gaze
Back to the instruction manual which has made me dream of Guadalajara.


100)
“Now, Kitty, let’s consider who it was that dreamed it all. This is a serious question, my dear, and you should *not* go on licking your paw like that — as if Dinah hadn’t washed you this morning! You see, Kitty, it *must* have been either me or the Red King. He was part of my dream, of course — but then I was part of his dream, too! *Was* it the Red King, Kitty? You were his wife, my dear, so you ought to know — Oh, Kitty, *do* help to settle it! I’m sure your paw can wait!” But the provoking kitten only began on the other paw, and pretended it hadn’t heard the question.

Which do *you* think it was?

>>25354297
>26
I'd recognize that style anywhere

File: Violet Hmmm.jpg (37 KB, 258x270)

37 KB JPG

>>25354338
Might be possible to triangulate with the character name . . .

File: Sweet dreams.jpg (301 KB, 1024x684)

301 KB JPG

9) Towards the beginning of the Iliad
13) I'll guess the Divine Comedy based on the terza rima.
25) Le Morte D'Arthur?
29) The Aeneid?
30) Dracula
32) Frankenstein?
39) Moby Dick
57) Don Quixote
58) La Belle Dame Sans Merci
81) Rebecca
92) Confessions of an English Opium Eater?
93) Paradise Lost

File: Martes Says Yes!.gif (1.18 MB, 400x225)

1.18 MB GIF

>>25354426
All good here:

>9) Towards the beginning of the Iliad
Helpful name drop I guess. Book II.

>13) I'll guess the Divine Comedy based on the terza rima.
Purgatorio, Canto 19. The Siren.

>25) Le Morte D'Arthur?
Yeah the distinctive "wall of text" Thomas Malory style. Dragon = Arthur himself. The "tattered tail" is supposed to be the Knights of the Round Table, which seems a bit disparaging (unless there is some special meaning to "tatters"?)

>29) The Aeneid
Filtered through Mr. Dryden.

>30) Dracula
Of course. ‘Lucy’ a big help although not really needed. Funny book. Some really good bits. Also a lot of not-so-good bits.

>32) Frankenstein?
Maybe shouldn't have put it so close to Dracula since they tend to go together in people's minds.

>39) Moby Dick
Stubbs doing the dreaming.

>57) Don Quixote
Another name-drop in there for people who read the whole paragraph.

>58) La Belle Dame Sans Merci
Keats, of course.

>81) Rebecca
Of course.

>92) Confessions of an English Opium Eater?
Right, De Quincey. Even after he gives up opium (or sort of gives it up) he says that the crocodiles still haunt his dreams. Hard to feel wildly sorry for him, though, since they don't seem that bad, the way he describes them. Quite friendly almost.

>93) Paradise Lost
Eve's dream in Book V (well, recounted in Book V).

>>25354301
>39)
Moby Dick

>>25354305
>49)
Boromir in Fellowship

>>25354323
>100)
Alice Through the Looking Glass

File: Hiyori Says Yes!.jpg (37 KB, 290x300)

37 KB JPG

>>25354495

>39)
>Moby Dick
Correct, although Duck Man snuck in there first.

File: Haruhi says Yes!.jpg (62 KB, 320x240)

62 KB JPG

>>25354499

>49)
>Boromir in Fellowship
Right. Sean Bean, I mean J. R. R. Tolkien.

File: Kay says Yes!.jpg (86 KB, 400x510)

86 KB JPG

>>25354509

>100)
>Alice Through the Looking Glass
Of course. Character in narrative is dreaming the narrative and other characters wonder (a bit worriedly) what will happen if he wakes up. I seem to recall PKD doing something a bit like this.

>>25354308
51. Would guess Freud, Interpretation of Dreams
52. Ditto Boccaccio
53. Urth is Gene Wolfe, no?
>>25354323
98. Zhuangzhi
99. Will guess Ashbery

>>25354323
>98)
This is a classic Daoist fable or tale. Zhuangzi

38. A Cioranism
45. Might this be Gautier, Mlle de Maupin?
86. OT (Moses), Jacob's ladder

File: Quite Right!.gif (471 KB, 300x164)

471 KB GIF

>>25354535
All good here, whether knowledge or guesswork:

>51. Would guess Freud, Interpretation of Dreams
Right. One of those things everyone knows whether they've read it or not.

>52. Ditto Boccaccio
4th day, 5th story. It's Isabella and the Pot of Basil (re-told by Keats, among others).

>53. Urth is Gene Wolfe, no?
Shadow of the Torturer.

>98. Zhuangzhi
‘On Making All Things Equal’ is my version, although I guess there are as many renditions of the title as of the text.

>99. Will guess Ashbery
Yep. ‘The Instruction Manual’ from his first book of poems. Guy has to write a boring instruction manual so he daydreams about this Mexican town.

File: Rin Says Yes!.jpg (73 KB, 480x270)

73 KB JPG

>>25354542

>98)
>This is a classic Daoist fable or tale. Zhuangzi
Right. "On Making All Things Equal", or whatever, as I said with the other guy.

File: Suzukaze Approves!.gif (222 KB, 270x270)

222 KB GIF

>>25354570
2/3 here:

>38. A Cioranism
Right. "The Trouble With Being Born"

>45. Might this be Gautier, Mlle de Maupin?
Logical guess but nope, not G. The translator might be taking liberties with regional-specific details (the fables, the currency etc).

>86. OT (Moses), Jacob's ladder
Correct. Genesis 28:11-12.

>>25354288
>2
Its one of the few poems from the poetry thread that just died

What a funny coincidence

>>25354284
yes quizanon been waiting for this one mush
8 is lovecraft cthulhu call of i think
26 is it cormac mccarthy
69 is howard one of his conan stories
72 is it chaucer
74 is it dunsany seems like his writing
78 is spenser its in his stanza after
thats all i got gadgie

>>25354284
>3
The Arabian Nights
>7
Something by Donne
>8
Call of Cthulhu
>9
Iliad
>10
Something by Faulkner, perhaps As I Lay Dying.
>23
The Gospel According to John
>29
Aeneid
>39
Moby-Dick
>44
Metamorphoses
>46
Long shot but, Diary of George Fox?
>49
The Fellowship of the Ring
>51
Freud, On the Interpretation of Dreams
>54
IJ
>57
Don Quixote
>59
Catch 22
>73
Book of Daniel
>77
Frankenstein
>86
Genesis
>98
Zhuangzi

>>25354657
>Its one of the few poems from the poetry thread that just died
Possibly, but we're gonna need a name. Can't just go handing out cute anime girls willy-nilly you know.

File: Konata Likes It!.gif (597 KB, 380x280)

597 KB GIF

>>25354703

A bunch are right although you're not the first:
>8 Call of Cthulhu
>9 Iliad
>29 Aeneid
>39 Moby-Dick
>49 The Fellowship of the Ring
>51 Freud, On the Interpretation of Dreams
>57 Don Quixote
>86 Genesis
>98 Zhuangzi


The rest are mostly right, just a few slips:

>3
>The Arabian Nights
Right. Attributed to Burton as translator. "The Ruined Man Who Became Rich Again Through A Dream".

>7
>Something by Donne
No Donne in the author list.

>10
>Something by Faulkner
Right.
>perhaps As I Lay Dying.
Nope. AILD is all told in first-person, from a million different perspectives. Maybe someone else can ID the book.

>23
>The Gospel According to John
Basically right, but no Saint John in author list. There is a saint there though . . .

>44
>Metamorphoses
Right. Ovid. Book XI. Neil Gaiman only steals from the best.

>46
>Long shot but, Diary of George Fox?
No GF in author list. I think I quoted him about a year ago. Not a name you hear very often.

>54
>IJ
Right. A genuine "fever deam".

>59
>Catch 22
No Heller in the A.L. (One anon said I always had C-22 every quiz but it's not that common. I did have it as #22 for a while as sort of in-joke.)

>73
>Book of Daniel
Haha, no, despite the ‘hath’s.

>77
>Frankenstein
Nope. Someone found F.; it's #32.

File: Yoko Says Yes!.gif (419 KB, 498x281)

419 KB GIF

>>25354695
All good here; just a few gaps on specific works.

>8 is lovecraft cthulhu call of i think
New England — CHECK. Green ooze — CHECK. Latent horror — CHECK. Who else could it be?

>26 is it cormac mccarthy
Sure sounds like him. Now we just need a book with a Billy in it . . .

>69 is howard one of his conan stories
Good enough. The Phoenix On The Sword.

>72 is it chaucer
It is. Slightly obscure Chaucer (Parliament of Fowls). One of those things that's basically all one big dream. Medieval guys liked doing those.

>74 is it dunsany seems like his writing
It is. Surprising how much archetypal fantasty stuff was, let's say, "influenced" by him. (See e.g. Jack Vance for details.) It's a short story called ‘The Fortress Unvanquishable, Save For Sacnoth’ from ‘The Sword Of Welleran And Other Stories’.

>78 is spenser its in his stanza after
Yeah, Fairie Queene. Book II, where Sir Guyon has to go around not getting tempted, or not much.

>>25354291
>16)
Aeschylus from the Oresteia
>>25354305
>47
The Greek genealogy is making me think Apollodorus

>>25354310
59 - Roald Dahl, from "a piece of cake" I knew immediately when I saw him in the author list that this would be the quote used.

Swooping in to steal this guys anime girls
>>25354763
>23
Gospel if Matthew
>10
A Light in August

File: Akko Says Yes!.jpg (54 KB, 380x288)

54 KB JPG

>>25355567

>16)
>Aeschylus from the Oresteia
Right. ‘The Libation Bearers’, Clytemnestra / Orestes foreboding.

>47
>The Greek genealogy is making me think Apollodorus
Not Apollodorus although to be fair this one and the A. are pretty similar, especially through the blur of translation.

File: Hina Says Yes!.jpg (111 KB, 640x360)

111 KB JPG

>>25355605

>59 - Roald Dahl, from "a piece of cake"
Correct, feverish dream when he’s in hospital after the crash.

>I knew immediately when I saw him in the author list that this would be the quote used.
Well, people might have expected The BFG, since dreams are central there, with the Dream Jar and all that. But I think Over To You is worth a bit of shilling.

File: Kotori Says Yes!.jpg (102 KB, 288x454)

102 KB JPG

>>25355621

>23
>Gospel if Matthew
Matthew 27:19. Matthew is the best bet for a random Gospel quotation. John second (especially for mystical stuff). Luke has the shepherds and Mark has a few odds and ends.

>10
>A Light in August
Nope. Granny is the key. She's a central character in the book. No Granny in LIA.

>>25355666
Ah then I think 71 is Apollodorus

File: Nagatoro Says Yes!.jpg (72 KB, 290x416)

72 KB JPG

>>25355694
>Ah then I think 71 is Apollodorus
Right, Book III of the "Library" history.

>>25354290
14th is circular ruins by Borges
25th is le morte d'Arthur by Malory
26th is The Crossing by McCarthy
32nd is Nightland by Hodgson
54th is Infinite jest by wallace
57th is Don Quixote by Cervantes
65th is old man and the sea by Hemingway
80th is dream of a manikin by Ligotti

File: Koharu Says Yes!.gif (378 KB, 400x328)

378 KB GIF

>>25355824
Good but found previously:
>25th is le morte d'Arthur by Malory
>54th is Infinite jest by wallace
>57th is Don Quixote by Cervantes

Not good and found previously:
>32nd is Nightland by Hodgson
It's Frankenstein.


These are good and all yours:

>14th is circular ruins by Borges
Guy dreams someone then finds he's not the top of the ladder, as I recall.

>26th is The Crossing by McCarthy
McCarthy was already known, but not The Crossing. Boyd perhaps foreseeing things. (This dream is after they meet the indian so maybe Boyd realizes what's going to happen. But I'm not sure if we're actually meant to think the indian they helped was the one responsible for all the stuff.)

>65th is old man and the sea by Hemingway
Last line of the book doesn't make much sense without this scene.

>80th is dream of a manikin by Ligotti
Right. Mannikins are never not creepy obviously.

Is 47 Plato?

>>25357974
>Is 47 Plato?
Nope. Plato occasionally went in for historical anecdotes but it's not really what he's known for.

>>25357976
I'm retarded and didn't see Herodotus on the author list first time around. That's definitely more his style

File: Ochaco Says Yes!.jpg (91 KB, 500x250)

91 KB JPG

>>25357979

>Herodotus
Right, Histories.

>That's definitely more his style
Yeah, he likes a good memorable anecdote. Doesn't really matter if it's true or not. He makes up for that by saying occasionally "or so people say, but I don't know if I believe it".

File: Don't Panic, Chika.gif (715 KB, 498x372)

715 KB GIF

Hmm, just noticed an error.

#4 should be marked [*] for translation.

Oh well, better late than never.

>>25358101
Is that one Plato?