“Oh, THE WORLD OVER THERE, it'sSo hard to explain!Just-like, a dream's-got, lost in yer brain!”

“Dream tonight of peacock tails,Diamond fields and spouter whales.Ills are many, blessings few,But dreams tonight will shelter you.Let the vampire's creaking wingHide the stars while banshees sing;Let the ghouls gorge all night long;Dreams will keep you safe and strong.Skeletons with poison teeth,Risen from the world beneath,Ogre, troll, and loup-garou,Bloody wraith who looks like you,Shadow on the window shade,Harpies in a midnight raid,Goblins seeking tender prey,Dreams will chase them all away.Dreams are like a magic cloakWoven by the fairy folk,Covering from top to toe,Keeping you from winds and woe.And should the Angel come this nightTo fetch your soul away from light,Cross yourself, and face the wall:Dreams will help you not at all.”

“Easy. They just let us forget. Give us too much to process, fill up every minute, keep us distracted, it's what the Tube is for, and though it kills me to say it, it's what rock and roll is becoming - just another way to claim our attention, so that beautiful certainty we had starts to fade, and after a while they have us convinced all over again that we really are going to die. And they've got us again.”

“Kekulé dreams the Great Serpent holding its own tail in its mouth, the dreaming Serpent which surrounds the World. But the meanness, the cynicism with which this dream is to be used. The Serpent that announces, "The World is a closed thing, cyclical, resonant, eternally-returning," is to be delivered into a system whose only aim is to violate the Cycle. Taking and not giving back, demanding that "productivity" and "earnings" keep on increasing with time, the System removing from the rest of the World these vast quantities of energy to keep its own tiny desperate fraction showing a profit: and not only most of humanity—most of the World, animal, vegetable, and mineral, is laid waste in the process. The System may or may not understand that it's only buying time. And that time is an artificial resource to begin with, of no value to anyone or anything but the System, which must sooner or later crash to its death, when its addiction to energy has become more than the rest of the World can supply, dragging with it innocent souls all along the chain of life. Living inside the System is like riding across the country in a bus driven by a maniac bent on suicide . . . though he's amiable enough, keeps cracking jokes back through the loudspeaker . . .”

“Each day the mythical return Enzian dreamed of seems less possible. Once it was necessary to know uniforms, insignia, airplane markings, to observe boundaries. But by now too many choices have been made. The single root lost, way back there in the May desolation. Each bird has his branch now, and each one is the Zone.”

“he is every assertion the fucking War has ever made-that we are meant for work and government, for austerity: and these shall take priority over love, dreams, the spirit, the senses and the other second-class trivia that are found among the idle and mindless hours of the day...--Gravity's Rainbow”

“I dream that I have found us both again,With spring so many strangers' lives away,And we, so free,Out walking by the sea,With someone else's paper words to say....They took us at the gates of green return,Too lost by then to stop, and ask them why-Do children meet again?Does any trace remain,Along the superhighways of July?”