Perchance to dream

He had always believed there had to be a place somewhere for all the thoughts that had been thought and then thrown out, the ideas scrutinised and swept away; he had imagined a sort of cave where the dreams dreamed and ditched shook off the dust and breathed themselves to life again, or an immense plain where grand passions lived and forsaken endured without end, where everybody's lives were bound like ribbons soaring and cascading at the end of meaning's kite. For him, the past was painted at one end of the sky and the future at the other, and in the present were the endless succession of dreams he lived in and would live out, every one of them, for as long as it took, and then for ever.