Hug your nightmares.

At night we sort the energy that by day we sense.

Do not ignore dreams. They are a line from the past to the future. All nightmares are real.

Evil, let it never be mistaken, is real. But it is inferior. It is parasitic. It is incomplete. The moment we take counsel from it, become overwhelmed by it, or put it on an equal...

Suddenly exhausted, she closes her eyes and slips into nightmares again. Graveyards rising out of the ocean. Her friends’ corpses in the light of their burning school. Skeletons ripping open men’s chests and crawling inside....

It takes life to transform nightmares into dreams.

My bed is massive (I drown in it, and it doesn’t matter how big the bed is, my nightmares more than fill it)

I can push everything into the dark.But it leaves me empty.And the dark always ends up finding me in my sleep

Plans never go as planned, ever; that’s just how life is. People spend way too much time dreaming about a future they should be having more nightmares warning them against. But that doesn’t mean you...

Maia screamed and woke. ‘Serenity?’ Cala’s voice, Cala’s angular shape outlined against the window. ‘ ‘Tis an ironic title, in sooth,’ Maia said feebly, realizing that the entangling garments of the nightmare were merely his...

The thought burrowed into her heart as darkness fell. It coiled in her guts as she wedged herself amongst the boughs of a tree to sleep. And in the morning, it woke with her and...

Childhood should be carefree, playing in the sun; not living a nightmare in the darkness of the soul.

Other people had flying dreams. I had falling nightmares.

There was a crash like the falling parts of a dream fashioned out of warped glass, mirrors, and crystal prisms.

When I was small I dreamed of demons. I thought they were under my bed, but you said, it can’t be so, you don’t get demons our side of the river, the guards won’t let...

Nightmares are at all times better than real life; because you always have the chance to start over everything.

Darkness is happening,” said the leather woman, very quietly. “Night is happening. All the nightmares that have come out when the sun goes down, since the cave times, when we huddled together in fear for...

Those in their snug Bed-chambers may call the Fears of Night meer Bugbears, but their Minds have not pierced into the Horror of the World which others, who are adrift upon it, know.

Through the night we drove in a tangle of waking and sleeping, nightmares from hell and holy white dreams.

You never know. Maybe when we’re dreaming…we’re more lucid than when we are awake.

Her world fragmented into dozens of sharp, cutting shards, shedding the salty blood and saltier tears that ringed the bitter cocktail of her despair. She was caterpillar and butterfly, both, caught in a cocoon of...