Monday, November 25, 2024 Text is available under the CC BY-SA 3.0 licence.

Kate Bush

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I could have been anyone.
You could have been anyone's dream.
Why did you have to choose our moment?
Why did you have to make me feel that?
Why did you make it so unreal?

 
Kate Bush

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Feel your hair come tumbling down
Feel your feet start kissing the ground
Feel your arms are opening out
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Do we have to be so distant
How can you be so unreal?
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It's our insides that make us who we are, that allow us to dream and wonder and feel for others. That's what's essential. That's what will always make the biggest difference in our world.

 
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Each religion is a brave guess at the authorship of Hamlet. Yet, as far as the play goes does it make any difference whether Shakespeare or Bacon wrote it? Would it make any difference to the actors if their parts happened out of nothingness, if they found themselves acting on the stage because of some gross and unpardonable accident? Would it make any difference if the playwright gave them the lines or whether they composed them themselves, so long as the lines were properly spoken? Would it make any difference to the characters if A Midsummer Night's Dream was really a dream?

 
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Yes, I dreamed a dream, my dream of the third of November. They tease me now, telling me it was only a dream. But does it matter whether it was a dream or reality, if the dream made known to me the truth? If once one has recognized the truth and seen it, you know that it is the truth and that there is no other and there cannot be, whether you are asleep or awake. Let it be a dream, so be it, but that real life of which you make so much I had meant to extinguish by suicide, and my dream, my dream — oh, it revealed to me a different life, renewed, grand and full of power!

 
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