This house was our dream-the gardens, the study, even the swimming pool. Even though I can't see John when I wake up in the morning, I can always feel him here with me.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
I got to see the American Dream unfold in my living room.
When I was a youngster I lived with different families. I nearly always felt closer to the man of the house. Maybe because I always dreamed of having a father of my own.
I escaped to New York, and then L.A., but when I dream of home, I still dream of my old house in Holmdel.
The house seemed so empty without him. And I thought about the life we'd been building together for all that time. I realized I was on the brink of losing it all. It just scared me into reality.
In the dream life, you don't deliberately set out to dream about a house night after night; the dream itself insists you look at whatever is trying to come into visibility.
There was always that kind of imagination in our house, which was always a little crazy.
My dream is to have a house on the beach, even just a little shack somewhere so I can wake up, have coffee, look at dolphins, be quiet and breathe the air.
I felt there was a lot of love in my house. And my mom was, you know, the basis of all that.
I live in a loft in a building I designed, but for my dream house I'd get Frank Gehry, just to see what he'd do.
As a young man you don't notice at all that you were, after all, badly affected. For years afterwards, at least ten years, I kept getting these dreams, in which I had to crawl through ruined houses, along passages I could hardly get through.
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