Quotes About Sleep

The stars have us to bed: Night draws the curtain; which the sun withdraws. Music

Oblivion here thy wisdom is, Thy thrift, the sleep of cares; For a proud idleness like this Crowns all thy mean affairs.

Gustavo Solivellas dice: Nunca hubo un niño tan encantador, pero su madre se alegró de dormirlo (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Sleep lingers all our lifetime about our eyes, as night hovers all day in the boughs of the fir tree.

Finish each day before you begin the next, and interpose a solid wall of sleep between the two. This you cannot do without temperance.

At night he didn't seem to sleep like I did. That is, any time I'd wake up at night, I'd look over and he would be sitting in the lotus position. And sometimes I'd make believe I was asleep and then open sort of a half-eye to see if he wasn't cheating—maybe he was sleeping Now—but he was always in the lotus posture.

I went to bed and woke in the middle of the night thinking I heard someone cry, thinking I myself was weeping, and I felt my face and it was dry. Then I looked at the window and thought: Why, yes, it's just the rain, the rain, always the rain, and turned over, sadder still, and fumbled about for my dripping sleep and tried to slip it back on.

and sleeping put an end to summer, 1928

To be asleep is to be dead. It is like death. So we dance, we dance so as not to be dead. We do not want that.

Sleep is a patch of death, but three in the morn, full wide-eyed staring, is living death! You dream with your eyes open. God, if you had the strength to rouse up, you'd slaughter your half-dreams with a buckshot! But no, you lie pinned to a deep well-bottom that's burned dry.

In the morning he would not have needed sleep, for all the warm odors and sights of a complete country night would have rested and slept him while his eyes were wide and his mouth, when he thought to test it, was half a smile.

I don't know anything any more, he said, and let a sleep lozenge dissolve on his tongue

But three, now, Christ three A.M.! Doctors say the body's at low tide then. The soul is out. The blood moves slow. You're the nearest to dead you'll ever be save dying. Sleep is a patch of death, but three in the morn, full wide-eyed staring, is living death! You dream with your eyes open. God, if you had strength to rouse up, you'd slaughter your half-dreams with buckshot!

Women never wake then, do they? They sleep the sleep of babes and children.

Like a fall of timber he chopped himself to bed.

Way late at night Will had heard—how often?—train whistles jetting steam along the rim of sleep, forlorn, alone and far, no matter how near they came. Sometimes he woke to find tears on his cheek, asked why, lay back, listened and thought, Yes! they make me cry, going east, going west, the trains of far gone in country deeps they drown in tides of sleep that escape the towns.

Midnight then and the town clocks chiming on toward one and two and then three in the deep morning and the peals of the great clocks shaking dust off old toys in high attics and shedding silver off old mirrors in yet higher attics and stirring up dreams about clocks in all the beds where children slept.

Behind him the lights of the lonely little store blinked out and there was only a street light shimmering on the corner, and the whole city seemed to be going to sleep.

I don't want any Halloween parties here tomorrow. Don't want anyone saying anything sweet about me; I said it all in my time and my pride. I've tasted every victual and danced every dance; now there's one last tart I haven't bit on, one tune I haven't whistled. But I'm not afraid. I'm truly curious. Death won't get a crumb by my mouth I won't keep and savor. So don't you worry over me. Now, all of you go, and let me find my sleep...

In his half-sleep last night he had felt something writing on the insides of his eyelids.

dreams are madness, my dear. It's things that happen in the waking world, while one is asleep, that one would be glad to know the meaning of.

the old with the young, the decrepit with the lusty—all equal before sleep, death's brother.

the men, the women, the children; the old with the young, the decrepit with the lusty—all equal before sleep, death's brother.

The double row of berths yawned black, like graves tenanted by uneasy corpses.