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Quote by Chen Chen

“I know: in a dream, the tea could stay forever the exact right drinking temperature & I never want that. I want the debauched joy of everyday bumbles & flops”

Quote by Chen Chen

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Chen Chen

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“Courage as you define it is to write the story of your heart, the story that formed while your life came as a mixture of agony and amazement. Courage as you define it is to feel your unfelt self and let the feelings be penned down so it maybe someone's else's survival guide when they have lost their own. Courage as you define it is to keep believing for there are still some unfinished poems in this world. Courage as you define it is to keep walking for there are still some unwritten stories you need to pen before you surrender to the end.....”

“Dreams All night the dark buds of dreams open richly. In the center of every petal is a letter, and you imagine if you could only remember and string them all together they would spell the answer. It is a long night, and not an easy one — you have so many branches, and there are diversions — birds that come and go, the black fox that lies down to sleep beneath you, the moon staring with her bone-white eye. Finally you have spent all the energy you can and you drag from the ground the muddy skirt of your roots and leap awake with two or three syllables like water in your mouth and a sense of loss — a memory not yet of a word, certainly not yet the answer — only how it feels when deep in the tree all the locks click open, and the fire surges through the wood, and the blossoms blossom.”

“Even knowing the danger, and remembering Ella's warnings, that single conjured spark had been enough to draw her back. The fire held her, trancelike, and was drawing her in. She was a single thread; the fabric of her being was a many-textured, spectrum-colored tapestry, unravelling a fiber at a time, unwinding on to a vast spool held by hands within the fire, one fine strand carefully wound in after another. As if that is where it starts, at the eyes, where the threads of the soul hang in their slackest stitch; stitches which can be hooked free of weft and warp, and pulled through, drawn out, spooled in. She was lost to it. She was coming apart. She knew the danger. The idea of resistance fashioned itself into a sword in her mind, a bright-edged sword, a way out. But the sword itself became smoke; and the thing she would slash free of became smoke. The effort to resist required too much, too mighty a cut, too great a mental stroke. Her mind was coming apart. Honora belonged to the fire. She was enslaved by the ritual dance of the aromatic flame. Fire, first and most martial of all elements, the hierarchical prince. She saw in the fire the tapered banners of his glorious armies, the swallowtail, pennants a-flutter, flags of crimson, ochre, sapphire, armies spilling into valleys and camped along the plains. They pinioned her and they held her. The flame engaged with her. She was fire. She was smoke. She was coming apart, like smoke.”

“There are books on Dream Making for Insomniacs, Sheep Counting 101, encyclopedias on the methods of sleep, theories around daydreams and naps and sleepwalkers. I pull out a recipe book titled, Sleep Tonics, filled with recipes for golden milk and warm butterscotch cocoa. There is a book on how to choose the correct pillow firmness for side sleepers, and a DIY book on constructing your own mattress made of recycled fibers and sheep's wool.”

“God wants your heart to desire Him - true life - more than you desire the dream...If we want to live a life of supernatural power and abundance, then we must first be willing to lay down our lives and dreams. If our dreams are from God, they will be resurrected back to life, producing much fruit and bringing Him glory.”