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After all those days in the cotton fields, the dreams came true on a gold record on a piece of wood. It's in my den where I can look at it every day. I wear it out lookin' at it.

I've had quite a lot of luck with dreams. I've often awoken in the night with a phrase or even a whole song in my head.

Everyone has their dreams. I don't write my dreams down; they just live inside of me.

I dream a lot, in colour and in sound and scent. Quite a few of my stories have come from dreams.

There's a joy and a pain about directing where the dreams you have are becoming concrete but the attention to detail, the need for time is such that it's overwhelming at times, and the stream of responsibility.

I was not looking for my dreams to interpret my life, but rather for my life to interpret my dreams.

My dreams were all my own; I accounted for them to nobody; they were my refuge when annoyed - my dearest pleasure when free.

I've got a young man who works for me who says you don't need to discover your dreams - you need to recover them.

Dreams must be heeded and accepted. For a great many of them come true.