Thriller Dream Quotes

She stared at her console, wanting to punch it. Her dream, running to save her life, to save everything, was all going to come true down on the planet’s surface. And when it did, she knew this time she wasn’t going to wake up.

Only a psychopath would ever think of doing these things, only a psychopath would dream of abusing other people in such a way, only a psychopath would treat people as less than human just for money. The shocking truth is, even though they now have most if not all of the money, they want still more, they want all of the money that you have left in your pockets, they want it all because they have no empathy with other people, with other creatures, they have no feeling for the world which they exploit, they have no love or sense of being or belonging for their souls are dead, dead to all things but greed and a desire to rule over others.

Imagine you’re a fish, swimming in a pond. You can move forward and back, side to side, but never up out of the water. If someone were standing beside the pond, watching you, you’d have no idea they were there. To you, that little pond is an entire universe. Now imagine that someone reaches down and lifts you out of the pond. You see that what you thought was the entire world is only a small pool. You see other ponds. Trees. The sky above. You realize you’re a part of a much larger and more mysterious reality than you had ever dreamed of.

"One cannot be a mother without first being a person; family, husband, and children should not be allowed, as is so often the case, to steal a woman’s selfhood and her dreams." Mother to Sherlock, Mycroft, and Enola Holmes by author Nancy Springer

Hell had frozen over and I was lost in its endless labyrinth.

A quick thought shot through my mind. Could I really drown in a dream? I remembered the movie the Matrix. If you died in the matrix, you died in real life. I wasn’t about to take a chance...

The young all have the same dream: to save the world. Some quickly forget this dream, convinced that there are more important things to do, like having a family, earning money, traveling, and learning a foreign language. Others, though, decide that it really is possible to make a difference in society and to shape the world we will hand on to future generations.

Usually I’m asked to solve a case that’s definitely real. Your distress is genuine, however, so I’ll see what I can find out, but I must warn you that I can’t be sure of success. A dream isn’t tangible evidence, after all.

He didn’t see a man with hopes and dreams, with disappointments and accomplishments. All he saw in front of him was just another nigger.

A good book is a good place to go..... to dream!

The big trinity of publishing: mystery, thrillers and romance. If you can combine all three, then it’s a winner’s trifecta and you’ll be rich beyond your dreams.

He grinned, a very dark and evil grin… the kind of grin that the Grinch had before he stole Christmas.

Life was about making sense out of the insensible. A ball of fire out of a clear blue sky? Must’ve been a meteorite, maybe debris from an airplane. Random flashes of light and color at night? A transformer blew up, you must’ve been dreaming, you’re talking crazy, quiet down, take your meds.

Can a black man succeed today beyond his wildest imagination? Can he experience the so-called American dream? Sure he can! He can overcome bigotry and societal views and ideas that stand in his way. But that doesn’t mean that he, unlike his white counterpart, doesn’t have to rise above adverse societal views and bigotry. . .

Dream as if you will live forever. Live as if you will die today.

Be careful with your visions, Ryan; that the nightmare doesn’t consume your reality, where you begin to live in that nightmare, and can only dream back your reality.

The mirror sighed and spoke in a tone tinged with melancholy. Its language was old and not of any of the worlds known or unknown. What you dream, what you darkly desire, Find it by trial or by fire. Seek it high and seek it low, Search the skies or the realms below. Look everywhere but beware, The deepest magic, the strongest spell Will not change what the stars foretell.

Enough with the sadness! This dream is not for cry-babies...” he said, his face beaming with a wide smile.

This is what people were looking at all day? How embarrassing! I looked like Quasimodo! My guests were exceptional actors.

What is the difference between a dream and its memory?

There were adventure stories supplied with cloths for mopping your brow, thrillers containing pressed leaves of soothing valerian to be sniffed when the suspense became too great, and books with stout locks sealed by the Atlantean censorship authorities ("Sale permitted, reading prohibited!"). One shop sold nothing but 'half' works that broke off in the middle because their author had died while writing them; another specialised in novels whose protagonists were insects. I also saw a Wolperting shop that sold nothing but books on chess and another patronised exclusively by dwarfs with blond beards, all of whom wore eye-shades.

A tired man is already in the grip of death and insanity ... A sane man is a man who is fully awake. As he grows tired, he loses his ability to rise above dreams and delusions, and life becomes steadily more chaotic.

When love,” she began to sing softly, “into my dreams was creeping.” Her voice was low and sultry. “I gave my heart into your keeping.” Pure ecstasy. How he needed her.

Seconds seem like a life time when the life you lived is slowly drained out of you by those who care not what you felt, hoped, or dreamed. When the darkness comes it is all consuming, there is no light and there is no pain. It is the never ending loss of hope that now consumes me as I die in his arms.

ALWAYS KEEP YOUR DREAMS ALIVE

When you go to sleep, where do you really go?

The main question raised by the thriller is not what kind of world we live in, or what reality is like, but what it has done to us

Do not lament the suffering we have to endure to fulfill the dream but rejoice in the courage with which we will face it.

Is this seat taken?" The deep, gravelly voice jolted Noelle from her blood-thirsty thoughts. When she laid eyes on the man it belonged to her breath caught in her throat. She blinked, wondering if maybe she'd dreamed him, but then he flashed her a captivating grin and she realized that he must be real - her mind wasn't capable of conjuring up a smile this heart-stoppingly gorgeous. A pair of vivid blue eyes watched her expectantly as she searched for her voice. "There are lots of other seats available," she finally replied, gesturing to the deserted tables all around them. He shrugged. "I don't want to sit anywhere but here." She moistened her suddenly dry lips. "Why?" "Because none of those other seats are across from you," he said simply.

Detective Inspector Carver took a picture from the breast pocket of his suit. He handed it to me. ‘This is what you did, Michael. Take a good look. See if it jogs your memory.’ I gawped at the mutilated corpse of a naked young girl lying on a blood-soaked double bed. Her hands were bound to the brass headboard with duct tape. Blood covered her upper body, and her long blonde hair was streaked a murderous shade of red. One eye stared at the ceiling as if searching for salvation, the other, a bloody unrecognisable pulp, bore no relation to its sightless counterpart. ‘Carla Marie Coombs. Twenty-one years of age. Do you recognise her, Michael?

He had dreamt about a dark-haired foreign boy. This boy held the key to the undoing of their demise. He had carried his curse for too long. Time was short, the alignment was coming. The vivid dream had spoken to him about Florence. As the sun overshadowed the top of the open-air coliseum, the light briefly hit his three golden symbols. He would need to cover them before he was spotted. Glancing around, he found what he needed. He rolled through the mud until he was coated. On the outside, he was Celestial KittyCat — a black, scrappy, alley cat with a golden brand on his side. A brand of a sun, a star, and a moon all in alignment. On the inside, he was still Patrick, and his heart still yearned for CallaLyly. He scowled as he thought about the curse that was planted by a mystic from the Far East over two and a half centuries ago.

This whole mythology of us that I had built up, our hopes and dreams, likes and dislikes, our plans for the future; a life that had seemed so secure, so sturdy, now collapsed in a matter of seconds - like a house of cards in a gust of wind.

They're more interested in their fucking iPhones than doing their jobs. I can see the glow of their phone screens on their faces as they check e-mail, update their Facebook slaveware, dream of living, breathing, and fucking through the anonymity of text and memes.

Gabriel Edward Mackie, born with soulful maturity and an intrinsic sense of empathy, gazed at life through a poetic contemplative lens relishing the plangent sounds of the wind dancing through the trees during a thunderstorm, inhaling the nutty scent of roasted peanuts at the ballpark, and firmly believing that if he stretched his arms high enough, he could touch his dreams. Driven by his keen curiosity, ability to find a silver lining in the darkest cloud, and vision, he spent boundless energy revering nature’s rarities like the spidery veins in between rose petals and a heron’s powder down feathers.

It must be one of life’s little jokes... how we take everything, even life itself, for granted. We waste our childhoods wishing for what we don’t have, longing for the future, dreaming of ways to speed the time so we can hurry up and see the world. And in our later years, we’d give anything just to slow things down and go back to what we once had.

A single lie is the father of all lies

I knew it was just a dream but it felt real, and sometimes there wasn't a difference between the two.

When Carri died, I felt like I had lost everything, except my life, and my memories of her. Now I can’t even dream of her...

The only person truly capable of keeping me from fulfilling my dream is me.

Some dreams shouldn't be remembered.

In my dream I drank fully of water, but when I woke, I was thirsty." Ned Low

The thriller is not a recent invention. It probably goes back to the dawn of storytelling

We are everywhere and nowhere.

According to the report, Jane Doe stood no more than five foot one—when standing was still possible. A killer’s dream victim. You couldn’t custom-order one better.

My dreams come alive in my books.

People never think of a child as being a monster, because if they did, they would never be able to sleep at night. Children are where lies peoples hopes, dreams, innocence... Not where lies murder.

I am no star And I am no calm; I cry all the time Because I don’t like my life I don’t have money; I can’t do anything; I can’t do any other job; Telling stories is all I want Only Dreams Can Cure Me

One day you see a man walking down the road, the next day you come to his yard and find him dead... Why is it that he cannot do what the living do? It is because the thing that gave power to these parts is no longer there. That is the duppy, and that is the most powerful part of any man. Everybody has evil in them, and when a man is alive... he will not abandon himself to many evil things. But when the duppy leaves the body, it no longer has anything to restrain it and it will do more terrible things than any man ever dreamed of. - From 'Tell My Horse: Voodoo and Life in Haiti and Jamaica', Zora Neale Hurston, 1938

When she woke in the morning, there would be no glass on the floor. No comforter lying on the chair. Hawk Cahill, the cowboy hero to the rescue, would have been only a dream in the middle of her waking nightmare.

Or maybe, when all was said and done, the imagination was the most powerful of all weapons. It was the imagination of the human race that had allowed it to dream of a life beyond cold caves and a possible future in the stars.

Everything is an echo of something I once read. Dream, hope, and celebrate life! Love always comes back in a song. One thing we all have in common is a love for food and drink. Memories never die, and dreams never end! What is time?

I am just an ordinary man, who loves to dream , to paint smiles everywhere, loves the smell of wet soil, and the drops of rain . But often I feel that there is something missing, that is essential to feel complete. I am a happy man, but I feel I am an incomplete man too.

One night. One messed-up, beautiful night is all we had together, and yet I feel like I’ve been with him every night since then. Because in many ways, I have. He’s been in my thoughts, my dreams, my memories, like a dark knight who never ever left my side, even when I left his.

Joe wished it had all been just a dream. To think of planes crashing into impossibly-tall towers, of bombs taking out eyes and teeth and fingers, of a silent, secret war he didn’t understand, was to think of fiction, a cheap paperback thriller with a lurid cover. There was – there could be – nothing real about such things.

Idly, in the strange purgatory between reality and the dream realm, I ponder the absurdity of these last few hours. I killed him, we buried him. And yet, our thoughts and actions are as if nothing happened... A sardonic thought settles in the milky haze of my exhausted delirium. I became a woman today. But whose blood truly signified it?

warned him against your play. I said that it was too peculiar for a modern audience and that nobody would understand what you were trying to get at. Is it a comedy? Is it a thriller? What is it, exactly? But he had complete faith in you, and now you turn up with your detective friend and cast aspersions on a man who is absolutely blameless and wouldn’t dream of hurting anyone.

In Moonlight Fear by Stewart Stafford Inexorable as a vampire's invite, The glowing pendulum swung, Crawled towards midnight's toll, My witching hour fever dream. Sleepwalking in sweaty silence, Protection fled to soullessness, No sanctuary in chanted words, Awakening warning on the floor. Spider's web tightrope to a sound, Path blocked by an unseen form, Driven out in the Lord's name, Receding growls echoed isolation. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.

When longing overtook them, they drew together and made the most intense and tender love Sarah had ever known. She was a freshly exposed nerve in the bleeding heart of Christ. He was devout in his reverent passion as her healer. Their love was a hallelujah chorus, a quiet prayer of exaltation, a holy union in the moonlight before dawn. It was here in this crystalline space that Sarah and Johnny took each other the true way to God, or they found God in each other, whichever it was.

Other books depended less on personal contacts than on certain abiding concerns. Early in his career, Dreiser had become interested in a crime that he saw as a dark version of the American success motif: the murder of a woman who stood in the way of her lover’s dreams of social and material advancement through a more advantageous marriage. For An American Tragedy (1925) he investigated numerous case histories, many of them sensational murders involving well-known figures such as Roland Molineux and Harry Thaw. He finally settled on the 1906 Chester Gillette trial for the murder of Grace Brown that occurred in the lake district of upstate New York. The novel benefited from the popular interest in criminal biography, a form to which Dreiser’s masterpiece gave new life as the progenitor of documentary novels of crime such as Richard Wright’s Native Son, Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood, and Norman Mailer’s The Executioner’s Song. The Cambridge Companion to Theodore Dreiser

The invisible shipwrecks of my life are scattered all over this secluded bay with its infamous black sand. They are a sad reminder of all the journeys I was too scared to make. Everyone's life has uncharted waters- the places and people you didn't quite manage to find- but when you feel as though you never will, it's a special kind of sorrow. The unexplored oceans of our hearts and minds are normally the result of a lack of time and trust in the dreams we dreamed as children. But adults forget how to believe that their dreams might still come true.

He could not have faced her right then. He had started to sense their relationship was over, that she wanted more than he could ever give her. They hardly saw each other any longer, had nothing much to discuss, and had even ceased doing the one thing they were good at. Still, to smell the sheets where she had lain brought him a certain peace, lulling him to sleep under the veil of her perfume. He dreamed they were married, running beneath a flurry of white rose petals, and then a door slammed shut, and suddenly he was awake. He was back at Cedar House, and it was night and the room was dark.

Something strange happens about dreams that Gloria has – the real world seems to get mixed up into the dreams and the dreams seem all the more real – with part of your mind you’re aware of what’s going on around you, but part of your mind is drifting and things start to get mixed up. What I’m trying to say is that the human mind has developed a safety valve and dreaming is really the unconscious mind (me in this case) clearing up the debris it has otherwise been unable to cope with on the conscious level – if this is so, then tonight’s dreams became like “a horror show” in which Gloria and I were literally imprisoned.” Gloria’s Helper

The remaining chain swung down, he wrenched the door out and he was free. The last thing he heard behind him was the oncoming stomp of running feet. Now began flight, that excruciating accompaniment to both the sleep-dream and the drug-dream as well. Down endless flights of stairs that seemed to have increased decimally since he had come up them so many days before. Four, fourteen, forty - there seemed no end to them, no bottom. Round and round he went, hand slapping at the worn guard-rail only at the turns to keep from bulleting head-on into the wall each time. The clamor had come out onto a landing high above him now, endless miles above him; a thin voice came shouting down the stair-well, "There he is! See him down there?" raising the hue and cry to the rest of the pack. Footsteps started cannonading down after him, like avenging thunder from on high. They only added wings to his effortless, almost cascading waterlike flight. Like a drunk, he was incapable of hurting himself. At one turning he went off his feet and rippled down the whole succeeding flight of stair-ribs like a wriggling snake. Then he got up again and plunged ahead, without consciousness of pain or smart. The whole staircase-structure seemed to hitch crazily from side to side with the velocity of his descent, but it was really he that was hitching. But behind him the oncoming thunder kept gaining. Then suddenly, after they'd kept on for hours, the stairs suddenly ended, he'd reached bottom at last. He tore out through a square of blackness at the end of the entrance-hall, and the kindly night received him, took him to itself - along with countless other things that stalk and kill and are dangerous if crossed. He had no knowledge of where he was; if he'd ever had, he'd lost it long ago. The drums of pursuit were still beating a rolling tattoo inside the tenement. He chose a direction at random, fled down the deserted street, the wand of light from a wan street-lamp flicking him in passing, so fast did he scurry by beneath it.

The only good thing to come out of it was a kind of wisdom in Hirsch. He’d grown to understand that police officers can drift over time, and it isn’t always or entirely conscious but a loss of perspective. Real and imagined grievances develop, a feeling that the job deserved greater and better public recognition. Rewards, for example, in the form of more money, more or better sex, a promotion, a junket to an interstate conference, greater respect in general. Some of these rewards were graspable, others the thwarted dreams that drove their grievances. Cynism set it. The bad guys always got away with it, and the media seized on the police officer who took a bribe rather than the one who helped orphans. So why not take shortcuts and bend the rules??

think Collins is going down in defeat due to his inept handling of the economy, even more intrusive government regulations, and letting other countries dictate to the United States what we should be doing. It’s apparent he doesn’t believe in American exceptionalism or the American Dream, and he seems to think we’re just another country. Through the mainstream media, his underlings constantly attack Conservatives and Independents without regard to the facts; it’s all about feelings for them. I was treated to the same kind of vitriol when his people took me down.

Life is like a dream, when you wake up, you only have memories.

Love at first sight is a polite phrase used when one wants to fuck a stranger.

To write a novel is to dream while awake, then express the dream to the reader in an absorbing way. The road leading from the writer's inner world to the readers' is paved with prose.

Without electronics to help me through my miserable life, I decided that I’d start working out. It would be great. My dad has a weight room in the basement that he doesn’t really use anymore, so I could lift down there. I began fantasizing about becoming huge and having girls all over me, which helped me through the rest of the evening, but of course I never actually got to lifting. All I did was lie down and dream, until school bitch slapped me into consciousness the following morning." - Michael

Perfection all the time would drive them mad. For every perfect little town, there's something ugly underneath. No dream without the nightmare.

I wake and in those first fuddled moments forget you’re not here. I must have been dreaming about you – a tense, erotic dream. I reach out in bed to the place your body should be. It’s cold and there is no hollow. Even the bed is forgetting you.

All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act out their dream with open eyes, to make it possible.” Seven Pillars of Wisdom, Lawrence of Arabia

Believe in your dreams and never give up. Although others may, you must never stop believing...

An atom is as true as a grain of sand and yet The former can ne’er be felt until the mingling Of many in unison Lends form and substance to the invisible ---Dreams---

Do you know where the phrase eat, sleep and be merry for tomorrow we die comes from? The Bible. But that was yesterday. Today we’re still alive and we all want to live for bigger dreams. The trouble is, if you chase your dreams and don’t succeed, they begin to follow you in life… - First Sleep

Little did I know that Siddharth was not a dream but a nightmare.

It’s all right, Byron. You’re more poet than you are pirate.” I walk up to him then. He scrambles to fix his spectacles. “But didn’t you always dream of adventure?” He stammers a bit. “I mean. I studied literature.

Don't be scared when you feel you are about to die. You're not frightened when you wake up in the morning, are you? Pretty much the same thing. 'Life is but a dream!

This is the American dream. I’m naked with a beautiful woman, a cup of coffee, and a bunch of guns. My life is now complete.

You don’t mourn the end, Bob. You mourn the beginning. You mourn the spark, the rush of attraction, the addiction of hope, and the danger of dreams.

No doctor can help me My only doctor is my dreams

It bloomed in the bleak soil where her darkest dreams were born. Dire petals. Bloody thorns. An emotion perfectly cultivated. Sculpted with the violence she adored.

在澳办毕业证咨询【Q微2026614433】办（UTS高仿毕业证UTS毕业证成绩单认证书）购买悉尼科技大学毕业证2021最新版本文凭。 Ruby Falls will sweep you headfirst into the life of Eleanor Russell, an actress setting up house in the glamorous Hollywood Hills with her handsome new husband, Orlando. Secrets abound in this bang of a book, a haunting tale sure to give readers chills. A stunner with some serious Gothic vibes." --Kimberly Belle, internationally bestselling author of "Dear Wife" and "Stranger in the Lake" "A tribute to Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca, this unnerving story about a Hollywood starlet haunted by her past will captivate you right up until the shocking ending. A must-read for anyone who loves an expertly plotted thriller with multidimensional characters." --Emily Liebert, USA Today bestselling author of "Perfectly Famous" "In 1968, young Ruby Russell loses her father while touring an underground cave. She recalls the moment his hand left hers, and nearly twenty years later, his disappearance remains a mystery. Ruby has reinvented herself as Eleanor Russell, married the man of her dreams, and is acting in a feature film. But as her new life begins to go awry, the mystery surrounding her past and present collide in a well-crafted and head spinning twist that I did not see coming. Ruby Falls is a skillfully plotted page turner!" --Wendy Walker, national bestselling author of "Don't Look for Me" "What a lovely ride! With fun twists and whip-smart language, clever Deborah Goodrich Royce leads readers down a familiar path--until she doesn't. Lyrical and filled with page-turning suspense, I gulped every word and enjoyed every bite. I promise Ruby Falls will become your next favorite book!" --Maureen Joyce Connolly, author of "Little Lovely Things" "Ruby Falls is a fantastic combination of a sweeping Hollywood story folde

高仿AIS毕业证咨询办理【Q微202-661-44-33】办（奥克兰商学院毕业证2021年版本）一模一样证书，在新西兰办AIS毕业证成绩单认证书，去哪办奥克兰商学院毕业证文凭证书 KJSNBSSBNSSBSVSBNVSBSNVSBNSVBSNVSBNSNBCSBVSC Royce's prose is taut and propulsive. Ruby Falls inhabits a hallucinatory Hollywood where fact and fiction mingle freely and even the smallest acts can feel ominous..an enjoyable pastiche with plenty of twists and turns." --Kirkus Reviews "Imaginative, unique, spine-tingling, and just the right amount of eerie, Ruby Falls is what a reader wants a psychological thriller to be." --Sandra Brown, New York Times bestselling author "Ruby Falls will sweep you headfirst into the life of Eleanor Russell, an actress setting up house in the glamorous Hollywood Hills with her handsome new husband, Orlando. Secrets abound in this bang of a book, a haunting tale sure to give readers chills. A stunner with some serious Gothic vibes." --Kimberly Belle, internationally bestselling author of "Dear Wife" and "Stranger in the Lake" "A tribute to Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca, this unnerving story about a Hollywood starlet haunted by her past will captivate you right up until the shocking ending. A must-read for anyone who loves an expertly plotted thriller with multidimensional characters." --Emily Liebert, USA Today bestselling author of "Perfectly Famous" "In 1968, young Ruby Russell loses her father while touring an underground cave. She recalls the moment his hand left hers, and nearly twenty years later, his disappearance remains a mystery. Ruby has reinvented herself as Eleanor Russell, married the man of her dreams, and is acting in a feature film. But as her new life begins to go awry, the mystery surrounding her past and present collide in a well-crafted and head spinning twist that I did not see coming. Ruby Falls is a skillfully plotted page turner!" --W

When I pick, I like plays. You know. I get to ham it up. Read all the parts. Right now, we're nearly done with A Midsummer Night's Dream. Then she'll choose something." "Isn't that Shakespeare?" asked Evon. and ad bib "You don't think there's room for Shakespeare in my common little mind?" "I didn't mean that." "Yes you did. Hey, listen, we've done all the classic comedies in the last year. Tartuffe. The Importance of Being Earnest. The Man Who Came to Dinner. We're having a great time. You know, sometimes she likes a break, so I'll read her a novel. She likes all the law guys." He showed her the next one they'd take up, Mitigating Circumstances, which was on a table downstairs. His mother-in-law, with her fatal touch, had brought a number of books that nei ther Rainey nor he much cared for, self-help guides, even a couple of picture books of far-off places written for juveniles.

Coming to terms with his curse, Adrian resigned himself to do the work. He allowed himself to see and feel the dead in his dreams and, in turn, find them and set them free. Accepting his burden as one spurred by love, he saw it was not the worst fate to have. Nonetheless, he distanced himself from the living, preferring to exist as a self-exiled wanderer rather than be cast out by others.

Viral Code …I want my dreams And I want them now; Give me my dreams; Only dreams can cure me; Everyone deserves dreams Because no one deserves them

The truth is, the idea of equality is a myth. As long as there are people who have hate in their hearts for people just because they may not look like them, and those people are put into positions of authority over others, inequality will continue. As long as people are teaching their children to hate others because of the color of their skin or who they pray to at night, that fabled equality people dream of will remain forever out of reach.

Believe in your dream, believe in yourself, work hard and enjoy the journey.

Most people associate the Nazis with book burning. Everyone has seen on television or the Internet the Dantesque images of students throwing hundreds of books into the fire in the streets and squares of German cities in the 1930s. True funeral pyres of Western civilization, they were a barbaric prelude to the burning of human beings, exactly as the German poet Heinrich Heine described in a visionary way. Much less well-known is the meticulous looting carried out by the Nazis in libraries throughout Europe. Prior to my conversation with Albert, I had heard something about it, but was unaware of both the reasons why this massive theft had taken place or of its size. While the theft of a work of art is usually done out of artistic passion or simple greed, what could have driven the Nazis to transport tons of books in train wagons across Europe? And it was not a selective exercise, no—the books were taken in bulk without any sorting. That is, they were removed without prior knowledge of their value. One particularly striking fact explains the Nazi regime’s interest in Jewish books. According to one of its most influential ideologues, Alfred Rosenberg, it was important for future generations to know the enemy after their final defeat. That is why public and private Jewish libraries were ransacked throughout Europe to fill the shelves of the Institut zur Erforschung der Judenfrage, the Institute for Research on the Jewish Question. In the eyes and most delirious dreams of the Nazis, it was a research institute dedicated to studying a people that was doomed to extinction.

A round plate with a red tangled mess in the center was placed before her. Her nasal slits contracted as repulsive fumes rose from the steaming heap. For some reason, Skyler’s sibling was nudging her arm with a round wooden bowl filled with shreds of green material covered by an oily sheen. Tarantula immediately passed it on to Skyler. How could humans have such problems with obesity? The greasy loaf of sliced bread festering in a basket in the middle of the table required evasive action as well. She pretended to take a sip of her water. “Well, Tula, tell us all about yourself,” Skyler’s mother chirped as she jabbed her fork into the mound on her plate and began twisting away. “My parents died in a car crash and I’m here living with my uncle.” There was a silence around the table. Had she said something wrong? Skyler’s sister raised her eyebrows while staring at her plate. Skyler glared at her mother. “Yes, Skyler shared that with me, I am so sorry for your loss,” her mother said uncomfortably, “but tell me, what are your plans?” “To get my GED.” “Yes, dear, but what are your hopes and dreams?” How satisfying it would be to explain to this prying human the true intentions she harbored for her precious daughter while throwing the contents of her plate across the table and into her face.

They need someone with a sharp wit who enjoys torturing men.” “I do enjoy torturing you.” “Just don’t go falling for any of the other guys you’re torturing. You’re my girlfriend.” “I wouldn’t dream of it.

Dr. Heron grinned sinisterly and chuckled beneath his breath. “Why would a dream character need a therapist?” he laughed openly. “What a ridiculous notion.” Matt shook his head instinctually, readying himself for the deluge of insanity. But now Dr. Heron was finally agreeing with him. “Death,” Dr. Heron offered simply, “you know that’s the answer. That’s the only way to know with total certainty. But if you’re wrong...well...there’s no coming back from that mistake, is there?” “You’re telling me to kill myself?” Matt seethed at this man who was supposed to be looking after him.

THE KAA It was the way he spoke about it, as if it were a dream.

THE KAA And he’d been told it was a dream. A dream from that other life.

Imagine having all the peace you could dream of, but no freedom of choice

THE KAA I imagined his memory was playing tricks on him, the way that dreams are usually a product of the mental state in which we are when we are having them.

The American author Guy Murchie had another interesting perspective on the subject. And I quote: ‘If you were God, could you possibly dream up any more educational, contrasted, thrilling, beautiful, tantalizing world than Earth? If you think you could, do you imagine you would be outdoing Earth if you designed a world free of germs, diseases, poisons, pain, malice, explosives, and conflict—so its people could relax and enjoy it? Would you, in other words, try to make the world nice and safe? Or would you let it be provocative, dangerous, and exciting?

What would you be willing to sacrifice to have a loved one back for a minute, a day, or a lifetime?" After my son Alex was killed by a drunk driver, I had a dream in which I was asked this question. Once I started thinking about it, I realized I would give up everything, and it later evolved into a science fiction book. I modeled the main character after my son. Alex's mannerisms and attitude became the basis for Xavier's character development. Xavier is a clone who does not know he is a clone nor who is controlling his fate. With his friends' help, he must uncover the people behind the conspiracy to create a shadow government and locate the others known as the Zodiac Thirteen.

I stretch my arms wide, blinking three times to make sense of the clock beside my bed. I've been asleep for a whole hour, dreaming of escaping this place. I'm too old to believe in princes, but a small part of me still falls for the fairy tales, wishing someone would come and rescue me from this odd existence. That's where you come in, dear guests. Each time one of you arrives, I wonder if you will be the person to whisk me away. The one who understands, instead of recoiling in disgust.