Quotes About Sleep

The moments that precede sleep are very similar to death. We are filled by a torpor and it is impossible to know when the 'I' takes on a different form. Our dreams are our second life. I am incapable of going through the doors that lead us to that invisible world without a shiver.

My sadness has become so routine that no one notices anymore. It's really good to finally talk about it, but what I have to say runs deeper than that false happiness. I don't sleep properly anymore. I feel I'm just being self-obsessed, trying to impress people as if I were a child. I cry alone in the shower for no reason. I've

and comforted by his greater wisdom he fell asleep again deeply in the darkness and the stillness.

and when he was weary he lay down upon his land and he slept and the health of the earth spread into his flesh and he was healed of his sickness.

There is a teaching on the three kinds of awakening: awakening from the dream of ordinary sleep, awakening at death from the dream of life, and awakening into full enlightenment from the dream of delusion.

When I'm alone, I can sleep crossways in bed without an argument.

You say I sucked at the Oscars. I was a genius at the Oscars. That was experimental tuxedo sleep art.

Sleep is no mean art.

The 'Muse' is not an artistic mystery, but a mathematical equation. The gift are those ideas you think of as you drift to sleep. The giver is that one you think of when you first awake.

This mind is continuous and ever taxing, Sleep is an endeavoring luxury for the carnivorous mind

Drowsing, they take the noble attitude of a great sphinx, who, in a desert land, sleeps always, dreaming dreams that have no end.

George a text telling him she had arrived safely, and she was asleep before her head hit the pillow. — And at the Soho Grand, Charles sent his ex-wife Gina one last text before he went to bed, and hoped she would respond in

Of course I have nightmares-Who doesn't?

Maybe the mad don't need to sleep. Maybe their insanity is all they require to sustain them.

In the morning always in the morning the moment comes when you are shuffling, sleep-slowed down the dawn-dim hallway shuffling in your nightdress it comes so sudden so cold so suddenly cold when it comes the dog nose in your butt.

Every part of my body felt electric. My chest ached and my head throbbed with the great terrible limitless possibility of the morning, and when it came, the sky was washed white, everything was new, and I hadn't slept at all.

He remained, weeks after awakening, in that period of early-morning consciousness that allows easy re-entry to dreaming. His limbs still tingled with the residue of sleep, and most days he wanted badly to allow it to overtake him again.

I rested my head deeper into the terrycloth and closed my eyes. Only on sand like this did I ever feel like I could sleep forever, did I feel that sleep could be a destination. The comfort was limitless and I knew I was mouthing the words Fantastic, so good, fantastic , so good but couldn't help it.

Hours later, the cat was asleep, and Erin lay next to it, her eyes half-closed. There was purring. I felt content. Why does it give so much comfort to be responsible for someone's sleep? We all — don't we? — want creatures sleeping in our homes while we walk about, turning off lights.

I love the night. Anything seems possible at night when the rest of the world has gone to sleep. It's dark and silent in the house, but if I listen close, I hear the beat beat beat of my heart. I hear the creak and crack of the house. I hear my mum breathing gently in her sleep in the room next door.

What was?' said Dad. She crinkled her face up, like she was embarrassed. 'Well,' she said. 'I was lying here last night, tossing and turning. Kept getting up to look at her. Kept dropping off to sleep. And the strangest of dreams …' 'And … ?' said Dad. 'And I saw this man, that's all. Another dream, though

Robie slept soundly after killing five men.

The integrity of my sleep has been forever compromised, sir.

These worst mornings with cold floors and hot windows and merciless light - the soul's certainty that the day will have to be not traversed but sort of climbed, vertically, and then that going to sleep again at the end of it will be like falling, again, off something tall and sheer.