Making your band your career just seems like a pipe dream when it's not happening, and when it does, it seems so surreal.
We didn't want to live anymore in the old logic. And I like that. The consequence of that is to create the dream of that, but we all know this dream may be not possible. So here we have the key of the ambiguity of the atmosphere of my films. Is it possible, this dream? Is it as funny as it seems, or is it tragic?
Conor McGregor seems like a good athlete, he seems like a decent counter-puncher. But, he also seems like a scumbag.
When you see a knife, fork and a spoon it seems to me like there are two of them together on one side of a plate, and then there's one on the other. It seems like a couple and a singleton. It seems obvious to me!
It seems like journalism over here in UK, in general, is at a higher level: not overrun by all these teeny little blogs. There's more of a historical context for it or something. It seems like people review something or take a listen to something and they really do their homework. That's just what it seems like.
I don't really dream, I space out during the day - that's one of my problems wonder off when someone's talking to me. I can't remember any dreams in my life. There's so much strange in real life that it often seems like a dream.
Stand-up comedy seems like a terrifying thing. Objectively. Before anyone has done it, it seems like one of the most frightening things you could conceive, and there's just no shortcut - you just have to do it.
To dream in isolation can be properly splendid to be sure; but to dream in company seems to me infinitely preferable.
Seems like I'm in a dream. Prince dead at 57. There are no words to describe this loss.
It's quite a feeling to be living your dream, and it seems easy to be like I am.
In Cameroon, kids have many problems. They think everything is lost before they are born. It seems like they are not allowed to dream. They are not allowed to be ambitious. They just accept being the victim of their life.
The world, like a dream full of attachments and aversions seems real until the awakening.
Old age is like an opium dream. Nothing seems real except the unreal.
From the outside, being an artist seems like a dream life, but there are much darker aspects to it.
I can also be very happy in this life, but it's usually happiness that I get from other lives I've lived and other dimensions. This life is hardly important to me. It's very small compared to the importance that I think the fourth and fifth dimension have. Those places are much more real to me, like when you have a dream and it's more real to you than real life. Compared to where I'll be going, this life seems like a dream that just feels like a dream.
I dreamed of myself in a dream, and told the dream, which was mine, as if it were another person's of whom I dreamed. Indeed what is life when thinking of the past, but dreaming of a dream dreamt by another who seems to be oneself?