When it comes to dreams and fancies and castles in the air, I have the soul of a millionaire.

Is there any way that two people from faraway places can ever really understand each other's daydrems?

I have heard of daydreams – is she in a daydream now? Her eyes are fixed on the floor, but I am sure they do not see it – her sight seems turned in, gone down into her heart: she is looking at what she can remember, I believe; not at what is really present.

ما أذكره أنّني كنت يوميّاً أحلم بتحريرها, أقول في نفسي أخاف أن تتحرّر و أنا في المدرسة و لا أعرف!! ثمّ أعود لأجيب عن سؤالي بنفسي . . بالتأكيد سأرى الرّايات و الأنوار تزيّن الشوارع عندها سأعرف بالتحرير . . الآن أضحك من نفسي و أفكاري!!

I often think in music. I live my daydreams in music. I see my life in terms of music.

I have often thought that Walter Mitty had it in him to be more than a hen-pecked loser. Instead of living it up as a flamboyant daredevil in his dreams, he could have chosen to be a responsible man in real life, going
about his work with dignity, and people may just have treated him with respect. Did his failures in life lead him to seek solace in daydreams or did his wandering mind stand in the way of his potential success? One must have triggered the other, and then it would have been both working together. An empty life drives you to fantasies of fulfilment, which then form a deadly, vicious circle which can turn you into a cartoon, as it did poor Mitty. Or lead you to ruin like Madame Bovary.