Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting...

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.

The silence that is in the starry sky,The sleep that is among the lonely hills.

The silence that is in the starry sky,
The sleep that is among the lonely hills.

Sleep is my lover now, my forgetting, my opiate, my oblivion.

I’ve dreamed a lot. I’m tired now from dreaming but not tired of dreaming. No one tires of dreaming, because to dream is to forget, and forgetting does not weigh on us, it is a dreamless sleep throughout which we remain awake. In dreams I have achieved everything.