Dream Capsule Quotes

Humans are the only animals that have children on purpose, keep in touch (or don't), care about birthdays, waste and lose time, brush their teeth, feel nostalgia, scrub stains, have religions and political parties and laws, wear keepsakes, apologize years after an offense, whisper, fear themselves, interpret dreams, hide their genitalia, shave, bury time capsules, and can choose not to eat something for reasons of conscience. The justifications for eating animals and for not eating them are often identical: we are not them.

Confidently step into the future, knowing that God has got you this far as a promise that He is able to get you beyond.

A year here and he still dreamed of cyberspace, hope fading nightly. All the speed he took, all the turns he'd taken and the corners he cut in Night City, and he'd still see the matrix in his dreams, bright lattices of logic unfolding across that colourless void... The Sprawl was a long, strange way home now over the Pacific, and he was no Console Man, no cyberspace cowboy. Just another hustler, trying to make it through. But the dreams came on in the Japanese night like livewire voodoo, and he'd cry for it, cry in his sleep, and wake alone in the dark, curled in his capsule in some coffin hotel, hands clawed into the bedslab, temper foam bunched between his fingers, trying to reach the console that wasn't there.

If every day you are not paying the price to make your dreams come true, then your everyday is a price that you are paying to stop your dreams coming true.

A writer is dreamed and transfigured into being by spells, wishes, goldfish, silhouettes of trees, boxes of fairy tales dropped in the mud, uncles' and cousins' books, tablets and capsules and powders...and then one day you find yourself leaning here, writing on that round glass table salvaged from the Park View Pharmacy--writing this, an impossibility, a summary of who you came to be where you are now, and where, God knows, is that?

The first step is the hardest in every journey of dreams. There is nothing else to fear unto whosoever has shown the tenacity to begin; because, once having started, the hardest part of the mission is the one lying behind.

Looking back through life you will find the pleasure of achieving your dreams is always greater than the pain you met while achieving them.

If every day you are not paying the price to make your dreams come true, then your everyday is a price that you are paying to stop your dreams coming true.

I realised no-one will come in to rescue me. I just had to step out somehow, and make my dreams come true.

Step into the future with focus knowing that the only way to kill your dream is trying to find another.

Something is gone. My sleeping capsule, my red and blue zeppelin Drops me from a terrible altitude. Carapace smashed, I spread to the beaks of birds.

Humans are the only animals that have children on purpose, keep in touch (or don't), care about birthdays, waste and lose time, brush their teeth, feel nostalgia, scrub stains, have religions and political parties and laws, wear keepsakes, apologise years after an offence, whisper, fear themselves, interpret dreams, hide their genitalia, shave, bury time capsules, and can choose not to eat something for reasons of conscience. The justifications for eating animals and for not eating them are often identical: we are not them.

The time capsule is a characteristically twentieth-century invention: a tragicomic time machine. It lacks an engine, goes nowhere, sits and waits. It sends our cultural bits and bobs traveling into the future at snail's pace. At our pace, that is. They travel through time in parallel with the rest of us, at our standard velocity of one second per second, one day per day... Builders of time capsules are projecting something forward into the future, but it's mainly their own imaginations. Like people who buy lottery tickets for the momentary dreams of riches, they get to dream of a time to come when, though long dead, they will be the cynosure of all eyes... Clear the airwaves: Dr. Thornwell Jacobs, Oglethorpe University, AD 1936, has something to say.

Colby was quietly shocked to find Tate not only at his door the next morning, but smiling. He was expecting an armed assault following their recent telephone conversation. “I’m here with a job offer.” Colby’s dark eyes narrowed. “Does it come with a cyanide capsule?” he asked warily. Tate clapped the other man on the shoulder. “I’m sorry about the way I’ve treated you. I haven’t been thinking straight. I’m obliged to you for telling me the truth about Cecily.” “You know the baby’s yours, I gather?” Tate nodded. “I’m on my way to Tennessee to bring her home,” he replied. Colby’s eyes twinkled. “Does she know this?” “Not yet. I’m saving it for a surprise.” “I imagine you’re the one who’s going to get the surprise,” Colby informed him. “She’s changed a lot in the past few weeks.” “I noticed.” Tate leaned against the wall near the door. “I’ve got a job for you.” “You want me to go to Tennessee?” Colby murmured dryly. “In your dreams, Lane,” Tate returned. “No, not that. I want you to head up my security force for Pierce Hutton while I’m away.” Colby looked around the room. “Maybe I’m hallucinating.” “You and my father,” Tate muttered, shaking his head. “Listen, I’ve changed.” “Into what?” “Pay attention. It’s a good job. You’ll have regular hours. You can learn to sleep without a gun under your pillow. You won’t lose any more arms.” He added thoughtfully, “I’ve been a bad friend. I was jealous of you.” “But why?” Colby wanted to know. “Cecily is special. I look out for her, period. There’s never been a day since I met her when she wasn’t in love with you, or a time when I didn’t know it.” Tate felt warmth spread through his body at the remark. “I’ve given her hell. She may not feel that way, now.” “You can’t kill love,” Colby said heavily. “I know. I’ve tried.” Tate felt sorry for the man. He didn’t know how to put it into words. Colby shrugged. “Anyway, I’ve learned to live with my ghosts, thanks to that psychologist Cecily pushed me into seeing.” He scowled. “She keeps snakes, can you imagine? I used to see mine crawling out of whiskey bottles, but hers are real.” “Maybe she’s allergic to fur,” Tate pointed out. Colby chuckled. “Who knows. When do I start?” he added. “Today.” He produced a mobile phone and dialed a number. “I’m sending Colby Lane over. He’s my relief while I’m away. If you have any problems, report them to him.” He nodded as the person on the other end of the line replied in the affirmative. He closed up the phone. “Okay, here’s what you need to do…

There are different ways of extracting lion’s mane mushrooms, and hot water is not a great one. That’s why I don’t recommend lion’s mane capsules or tea, and it tastes horrible in coffee. The most effective form I’ve ever tried is a double extract that uses both alcohol and heat, made by Life Cykel. Two droppers before bed create noticeable increases in my REM sleep with powerful dreams I can easily remember.

Recall that Guinness deems it acceptable for a man (Felix Baumgartner) to ascend 128,000 feet into the outer reaches of our atmosphere in a hot-air balloon wearing a spacesuit, open the door of his capsule, stand atop a ladder suspended above the planet, and then free-fall back down to Earth at a top speed of 843 mph (1,358 kmh), passing through the sound barrier while creating a sonic boom with just his body. But the risks associated with sleep deprivation are considered to be far, far higher.

The Karen Novotny Experience. As she powdered herself after her bath, Karen Novotny watched Trabert kneeling on the floor of the lounge, surrounded by the litter of photographs like an eccentric Zen cameraman. Since their meeting at the emergency conference on Space Medicine he had done nothing but shuffle the photographs of wrecked capsules and automobiles, searching for one face among the mutilated victims. Almost without thinking she had picked him up in the basement cinema after the secret Apollo film, attracted by his exhausted eyes and the torn flying jacket with its Vietnam flashes. Was he a doctor, or a patient? Neither category seemed valid, nor for that matter mutually exclusive. Their period in the apartment together had been one of almost narcotic domesticity. In the planes of her body, in the contours of her breasts and thighs, he seemed to mimetize all his dreams and obsessions.

Love Blindfolded in a capsule of dreams and hopes, fears and expectations, in the bud or roses that are yet to be born, in the hearts of youth and old, arranged and re-arranged, decorated with words that speak the language of your soul,

Love Blindfolded in a capsule of dreams and hopes, fears and expectations, in the bud of roses that are yet to be born, in the hearts of youth and old, arranged and re-arranged, decorated with words that speak the language of your soul,

The city of Hampton changed its official seal to depict a crab holding a Mercury capsule in its claw, adopting the motto E Praeteritis Futura: Out of the past, the future.

The sun has melted the snow. But I don’t know when. I’ll write more later, when I feel better. Here’s what I remember, after reading these journals, and having the same dream for a long time.

They were lost in surreal capsules of dream.

According to opinion polls, we’re expected to believe that there’s a national consensus on the issue. It’s official now. Everybody loves the bomb. (Therefore the bomb is good.) Is it possible for a man who cannot write his own name to understand even the basic, elementary facts about the nature of nuclear weapons? Has anybody told him that nuclear war has nothing at all to do with his received notions of war? Nothing to do with honor, nothing to do with pride? Has anybody bothered to explain to him about thermal blasts, radioactive fallout, and the nuclear winter? Are there even words in his language to describe the concepts of enriched uranium, fissile material, and critical mass? Or has his language itself become obsolete? Is he trapped in a time capsule, watching the world pass him by, unable to understand or communicate with it because his language never took into account the horrors that the human race would dream up? Who the hell conducted those opinion polls? Who the hell is the prime minister to decide whose finger will be on the nuclear button that could turn everything we love—our earth, our skies, our mountains, our plains, our rivers, our cities and villages—to ash in an instant? Who the hell is he to reassure us that there will be no accidents? How does he know? Why should we trust him? What has he ever done to make us trust him? What have any of them ever done to make us trust them?

Donald was stunned. They must be making a sensaysh out of it, to sacrifice so much time from even their ten-minute condensed-news cycle! His Mark II confidence evaporated. Euphoric from his recent eptification, he had thought he was a new person, immeasurably better equipped to affect the world. But the implications of that expensive plug stabbed deep into his mind. If State were willing to go to these lengths to maintain his cover identity, that meant he was only the visible tip of a scheme involving perhaps thousands of people. State just didn’t issue fiats to a powerful corporation like English Language Relay Satellite Service without good reason. Meaningless phrases drifted up, dissociated, and presented themselves to his awareness, all seeming to have relevance to his situation and yet not cohering. My name is Legion. I fear the Greeks, even bearing gifts. The sins of the fathers shall be visited on the children. Say can you look into the seeds of time? Was this the face that launch’d a thousand ships, And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Struggling to make sense of these fragments, he finally arrived at what his subconscious might be trying to convey. The prize, these days, is not in finding a beautiful mistress. It’s in having presentable prodgies. Helen the unattainable is in the womb, and every mother dreams of bearing her. Now her whereabouts is known. She lives in Yatakang and I’ve been sent in search of her, ordered to bring her back or say her beauty is a lie—if necessary to make it a lie, with vitriol. Odysseus the cunning lurked inside the belly of the horse and the Trojans breached the wall and took it in while Laocoön and his sons were killed by snakes. A snake is cramped around my forehead and if it squeezes any tighter it will crack my skull. When the purser next passed, he said, “Get me something for a headache, will you?” He knew that was the right medicine to ask for, yet it also seemed he should have asked for a cure for bellyache, because everything was confused: the men in the belly of the wooden horse waiting to be born and wreak destruction, and the pain of parturition, and Athena was born of the head of Zeus, and Time ate his children, as though he were not only in the wooden horse of the express but was it about to deliver the city to its enemy and its enemy to the city, a spiralling wild-rose branch of pain with every thorn a spiky image pricking him into other times and other places. Ahead, the walls. Approaching them, the helpless stupid Odysseus of the twenty-first century, who must also be Odin blind in one eye so as not to let his right hand know what his left was doing. Odinzeus, wielder of thunderbolts, how could he aim correctly without parallax? “No individual has the whole picture, or even enough of it to make trustworthy judgments on his own initiative.” Shalmaneser, master of infinite knowledge, lead me through the valley of the shadow of death and I shall fear no evil … The purser brought a white capsule and he gulped it down. But the headache was only a symptom, and could be fixed.

Whatever its pros and cons, the invention and dissemination of Thorazine is ultimately as significant for what it did not do as for what it did. Yes, the drug reversed states of psychosis so severe they had trapped patients for years. Yes, by doing so, the drug helped to birth the deinstitutionalization movement and the corresponding rise of the community mental health center. And the drug finally put a dent in the deeply held American affinity for psychoanalysis, as even the clinicians most dedicated to “the talking cure” had to concede that this capsule could clear the mind more effectively and efficiently than could any leather couch and conversation. But the drug did not, at least initially, spur anyone to ask how or why it was working. No one had the slightest idea. It was simply enough for everyone that it was working. Clearly the capsule suggested that mental illness, at least in some respects, was a brain-based phenomenon, but beyond that, few had a clue.

At the end of the second orbit, an indicator in the capsule suggested that the all-important heat shield was loose. Without that firewall, there was nothing standing between the astronaut and the 3,000-degree Fahrenheit temperatures—almost as hot as the surface of the Sun—that would build up around the capsule as it passed back through the atmosphere. From Mission Control came an executive decision: at the end of the third orbit, after the retrorockets were to be fired, Glenn was to keep the rocket pack attached to the craft rather than jettisoning it as was standard procedure. The retropack, it was hoped, would keep the potentially loose heat shield in place. At four hours and thirty-three minutes into the flight, the retrorockets fired. John Glenn adjusted the capsule to the correct reentry position and prepared himself for the worst. As the spaceship decelerated and pulled out of its orbit, heading down, down, down, it passed through several minutes of communications blackout. There was nothing the Mission Control engineers could do, other than offer silent prayers, until the capsule came back into contact. Fourteen minutes after retrofire, Glenn’s voice suddenly reappeared, sounding shockingly calm for a man who just minutes before was preparing himself to die in a flying funeral pyre. Victory was nearly in hand! He continued his descent, with the computer predicting a perfect landing. When he finally splashed down, he was off by forty miles, only because of an incorrect estimate in the capsule’s reentry weight. Otherwise, both computers, electronic and human, had performed like a dream. Twenty-one minutes after landing, the USS Noa scooped the astronaut out of the water.

There used to be a place called home You were young foolish and free Everyone wanted to feel alive everyone wanted to love Everyone wanted to dream everyone wanted to hope No one was schooled or educated enough to understand Sun was the warm witness burning memories into your mind The rain washed your tears, and the morning dew kissed your sleepy eyes Spring gave you hope for a living when everything around you was falling apart And the years dragged you through life when the autumn came to love died And there was no place to call home No hope no dreams were left Time to begin anew time to move on Some stayed thinking they could work it out They died young and were buried in old age There is a limit on everything, there is no more Only brokenness towards the place you used to call home There is no way back only tormented memories of what could have been Time heals you gain strength you finish your grief You start the longing to be loved and to belong again To a place called love the holy grail of life To a new place to call home Some repeat this gift this tragedy this beauty many times in their life You will never have the same repeat twice It is once in a lifetime love capsule that is engraved in time Spring summer and autumn come and go you mature with the years You look back in time now you know the game, and you long for more of that magic Put away your preconditions no matter how you plot and scheme It was never perfect the first time and it will never be perfect this time The insecurity of youth has come into old age Your soul cries in silence, kiss me so you can forget Each day you grow older and colder You indulge in distractions, parties, concerts, adventure, and travels It is all new and beautiful again All the make-believe beauty is written on the broken tablet of your soul Spring brings new life to new love, and summer bathes us in friendship and laughter Autumn sheds all your expectations dreams and hopes But nothing can ever diminish that light within That is always searching for love Looking for a place called home To rest to sleep in the temple of your twin flame in your lover's arm in your lover's soul In a place of all the places in the world a place where you can call home