The whole world is a dream; even this (the waking state) is a dream … What you dreamt last night does not exist now.

DREAMS ARE THE SEEDLINGS OF REALITY.

You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream...
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

A dream is a creation of the intelligence, the creator being present but not knowing how it will end.

Dreams are the bright creatures of poem and legend, who sport on earth in the night season, and melt away in the first beam of the sun, which lights grim care and stern reality on their daily pilgrimage through the world.

Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Everything dreams. The play of form, of being, is the dreaming of substance. Rocks have their dreams, and the earth changes....

In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream

The Dream
Lord Byron

Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts,
They take a weight from off waking toils,
They do divide our being; they become
A portion of ourselves as of our time,
And look like heralds of eternity;
They pass like spirits of the past -they speak
Like sibyls of the future; they have power -
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;
They make us what we were not -what they will,
And shake us with the vision that's gone by,
The dread of vanished shadows -Are they so?
Is not the past all shadow? -What are they?
Creations of the mind? -The mind can make
Substances, and people planets of its own
With beings brighter than have been, and give
A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.
I would recall a vision which I dreamed
Perchance in sleep -for in itself a thought,
A slumbering thought, is capable of years,
And curdles a long life into one hour. — — — — — Il sogno
Lord Byron

Duplice è la nostra vita: il Sonno ha il suo proprio mondo,
un confine tra le cose chiamate impropriamente
morte e esistenza: il Sonno ha il proprio mondo,
e un vasto reame di sfrenata realtà;
e nel loro svolgersi i sogni hanno respiro,
e lacrime e tormenti e sfiorano la gioia;
lasciano un peso sui nostri pensieri da svegli,
tolgono un peso dalle nostre fatiche da svegli,
dividono il nostro essere; diventano
parte di noi stessi e del nostro tempo,
e sembrano gli araldi dell'eternità;
passano come fantasmi del passato, parlano
come Sibille dell'avvenire; hanno potere -
la tirannia del piacere e del dolore;
ci rendono ciò che non fummo, secondo il loro volere,
e ci scuotono con dissolte visioni,
col terrore di svanite ombre. Ma sono veramente così?
Non è forse tutto un'ombra il passato? Cosa sono?
Creazioni della mente? L

All that we see and seem is but a dream within a dream.

The oak sleeps in the acorn. The bird waits in the egg, and in the highest vision of the soul, a waking angel stirs. Dreams are the seedlings of reality.

The dream is a little hidden door in the innermost and most secret recesses of the soul, opening into that cosmic night which was psyche long before there was any ego-consciousness, and which will remain psyche no matter how far our ego-consciousness extends.

A dream is not reality but who's to say which is which?

"A great work of art is like a dream; for all its apparent obviousness it does not explain itself and is never unequivocal. A dream never says: "You ought", or: "This is the truth." It presents an image in much the same way as nature allows a plant to grow, and we must draw our own conclusions. If a person has a nightmare, it means either that he is too much given to fear, or else that he is too exempt from it;"