pSMUNDA - pi^EAMS.' 
We are such stuff 
As dreams are made of: and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep. 
Shakespeare. 
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 our waking toils: 
They do divide our being: they become 
A portion of ourselves, as of our time, 
And look like heralds of eternity. 
Byron. 
A trifle makes a dream, a trifle breaks. 
Tennyson. 
Your least wish sways me as frcm worlds above, 
And I yield all to you, 
Who are the only She, 
And in one girl all womanhood to me. 
Palgrave. 
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