Dream (n.) comes from the clinging remnants of the soul's waking acts and thoughts.
A Dream (n.) is the stirring of the remnants of our waking thoughts and deeds within the soul.
Dream (n.) mostly reflects the day's desires and thoughts, its sights and deeds, and all we say or do awake.
Dream (n.) of Marius came because, in exile, Cicero kept recalling how bravely Marius had borne his own misfortunes.
Dream (n.) is the day's leftovers: what we think and talk of while awake comes back in sleep, as Homer came to Ennius.
Dream (n.) is more confused than a madman's visions; the only difference is that dreamers take theirs to interpreters.
A Dream (n.) is believed while it lasts as fully as waking sight; what we think of it after waking proves nothing about the moment itself.
Dream (n.) that comes true is no wonder: who, shooting at a mark all day long, will not occasionally hit it?
Dream (n.) is hardly the work of gods flitting about the pallets of snoring mortals to pelt them with dark, twisted visions for a dream-expert to unravel in the morning.
Dream (n.) the gods send in riddles is like Carthaginians addressing our Senate in their own tongue without an interpreter.
A Dream (n.) is despised as soon as we wake: Ennius wrote that Homer seemed to stand before him, never that he seemed to walk with his neighbour Galba.
Dream (n.) of the gorged sleeper lets the brutish part of the soul leap up: he dreams of incest with his mother, of killing, of every vile thing done without shame.
Dream (n.) is no channel for a god: most people forget or scorn their dreams, and a god would not send warnings by a medium men think unworthy even of remembering.