"I never knew how to love. I only knew how to love in a dream...

I've never done anything but dream. That, and that alone, has always been the meaning of my life. I have never had any other real concern than that of my inner life. The greatest sorrows of my existence have faded as soon as I could, opening the window that gives on myself, forget myself by contemplating its perpetual movement...

Dreams are the worst kind of cocaine, because they are the most natural of all. It slips into our habits more easily than any other, we try it unintentionally, like a poison taken without suspicion. It is not painful, it does not cause pallor or despondency - but the soul that makes use of the dream becomes incurable, because it can no longer do without its poison, which is nothing more than itself."

(Fernando Pessoa: Book of Disquiet)