The way to kill a man or a nation is to cut off his dreams, the

In the haunting and prophetic words of William S. Burroughs, the renegade thinker and poet of the human condition, we encounter a truth as ancient as civilization itself: “The way to kill a man or a nation is to cut off his dreams, the way the whites are taking care of the Indians: killing their dreams, their magic, their familiar spirits.” These words, born from anger, sorrow, and revelation, pierce to the very heart of what it means to destroy — not through the sword or fire, but through the quiet extinction of spirit. Burroughs, who saw through the veils of modernity into its spiritual decay, reminds us that true death is not of the body, but of the dream.

The origin of this quote lies in Burroughs’s reflections on the wounds of history — particularly the oppression and cultural annihilation of Indigenous peoples. He recognized that colonization was not merely a theft of land, but of meaning, myth, and identity. When a people’s stories are silenced, their rituals forbidden, their sacred symbols mocked or erased, their dreams — the living pulse of their being — are suffocated. Burroughs saw this not only as a tragedy of the past but as a warning for all time: when a people’s imagination dies, their soul follows.

To cut off a man’s dreams is to render him hollow. You need not chain him; you need only convince him that his visions are worthless. The same is true of nations. When rulers destroy the mythic imagination — the songs, symbols, and collective ideals that bind a people — they do not merely weaken them; they kill them inwardly. A dreamless people become obedient, mechanical, and easily subdued. Burroughs understood that tyranny does not always roar — sometimes, it whispers that dreaming is futile.

History bears bitter witness to this truth. The colonization of the Native American tribes was not only a conquest of land but of spirit. Their languages, stories, and ceremonies — once the heartbeat of their identity — were outlawed or shamed. Children were torn from their families and taught to forget their ancestors, their gods, their magic. The buffalo were slaughtered not just for profit but to shatter a way of life. In this devastation, the colonizers achieved what all oppressors seek: not only dominance, but erasure. And yet, even among ashes, the spirit of the dream endured — in the songs that survived in whispers, in the dances reclaimed in defiance, in the prayers that still rise from the sacred earth.

Burroughs’s quote, though rooted in history, is also universal. It speaks not only of nations but of individuals. Every human being is sustained by a dream — the vision of who they might become, the faith in something greater than their suffering. When life’s systems — political, economic, or social — strip a person of that dream, they destroy his strength from within. A man without a dream is like a tree cut at the root: he may stand for a while, but he is already dying. Thus, Burroughs’s lament becomes an exhortation — protect your dreams, for they are your life’s flame against the world’s coldness.

Yet within this darkness, there is a spark of resistance. For though dreams can be attacked, they cannot be completely destroyed as long as they are remembered and retold. The enslaved sang songs of freedom; the exiled carried stories of home in their hearts. The dream, like fire, may be buried under ashes, but it waits to rise again when the wind of remembrance blows. Those who dream, even in oppression, carry the seeds of resurrection. For no empire can withstand the human spirit that refuses to forget its own magic.

Therefore, O seeker of truth and freedom, learn from Burroughs’s fierce wisdom: guard your dreams as you would guard your soul. Do not let cynicism or comfort numb your imagination. Remember that every people, every individual, lives or dies by the strength of their inner vision. Honor the dreams of your ancestors; nurture the dreams of your children. Support those whose voices have been silenced, whose cultures have been stripped, whose stories wait to be told again. For when you help others dream, you keep the fire of humanity itself alive.

And so, as William S. Burroughs teaches, the death of the dream is the death of life itself. But the one who keeps dreaming — despite oppression, despite sorrow, despite the world’s indifference — keeps alive the eternal spark of creation. Protect it, feed it, and let it shine, for the dream is not just the refuge of the soul — it is its weapon, its compass, and its immortal song.