A professor of mine once paused, interrupting his lecture on Descartes' orders of reality, remarking, "I have had the strangest dreams lately." Puzzled, but inquisitive, the students began to listen as he continued, "Each night I have met a philosopher, in the same open field, under the same orange sun. Each night they tell to me the ideas that guide their thoughts, laying the foundation for their philosophy. After listening, I would lean in closely and mumble to them, in response to which they would step back disillusioned, thinking 'I must start from scratch, my proofs mean nothing'."
One inquisitive student asked, "What did you tell them?"
The professor elaborated, "Last night I met Descartes, and as usual, he began to outline his discipline and philosophy. I waited patiently, then mumbled to him, at which he turned in disbelief, and wandered off to rethink his theories. At this point, I woke myself up and scribbled down my mumbled sentence on a piece of paper, before rolling back to sleep. Upon waking, I read the paper. It said, "Well thats what you say."