Quotes About Sleep

No, he keeps the schedule of a cat. Long hours of slumber interrupted by brief periods of self-grooming.

The next day I woke up in a sullen simmer, as if sleep had catalyzed my depression into a general state of pissed-offedness.

St. Vincent. Her husband. He was naked, or at least the upper half of him was. He slept on his stomach, his smoothly muscled arms curved around the pillow beneath his head. The broad lines of his shoulders and back were so perfect that they seemed to have been carved from Baltic amber and sanded to a ghostly finish. His face was much softer in repose than it was in wakefulness... the calculating eyes were closed, and his mouth was relaxed into gentle, innocently sensuous lines.

St. Vincent. Her husband. He was naked, or at least the upper half of him was. He slept on his stomach, his smoothly muscled arms curved around the pillow beneath his head. The broad lines of his shoulders and back were so perfect that they seemed to have been carved from pale Baltic amber and sanded to a glossy finish. His face was much softer in repose than it was in wakefulness... the calculating eyes were closed, and his mouth was relaxed into gentle, innocently sensuous lines.

As her gentle voice continued, Rhys had the sensation of floating, the red tide of fever easing. How strange and lovely it was to lie here half dozing in her arms, possibly even better than fucking... but that thought led to the indecent question of what it might be like with her... how she might lie quietly beneath him while he devoured all that petal softness and vanilla sweetness... and slowly he fell asleep in Lady Helen's arms.

Think of it this way-going to bed naked is better for the environment." "Oh, shut up." "Come on, Ella. Sleep green.

I think a good mom is an awake mom. At least for me, I've always been a kinder, better person awake than sleep-deprived!

Doesn't matter. She'll sleep as long as you drive." "Do environmentalists know about this?

John had a photographic memory...this wasn't smart, exactly, but it could pass for smart. Smart was about intuition, and John had that too. Smart was: you didn't exert effort but you knew the answer anyways. You thought about it, yes, but the answer came via a different route. Smart was: you always had access to that different route. The answer came in the back door while you were cooking or even while you slept.

Sleep finally comes like a summer dry river, a trickle that's shallow and splits around rocks and downed branches and tree roots, dividing and dividing, till by morning it's the thin bead of gathered morning dew, dripping lazy off the army tent overhead.

this body is home, my childhood is buried here, my sleep rises and sets inside, desire crested and wore itself thin between these bones— I live here.

My love's hair is autumn hair, there the sun ripens. My fingers harvest the dark vegetable of her body. In the morning I remove it from my tongue and sleep again.

Chaque matin, je me dégage des bras enchanteurs de Morphée, pétrifiée à l'idée de ces heures interminables qui s'égrèneront lentement jusqu'à ce que je puisse me replonger dans l'oubli bienfaisant d'un nouveau sommeil.

Sleep... Oh! how I loathe those little slices of death....

So many ghosts, and forms of fright, Have started from their graves to-night, They have driven sleep from mine eyes away; I will go down to the chapel and pray.

Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears and tortures, and the touch of joy.

When one subtracts from life infancy (which is vegetation), sleep,eating and swilling, buttoning and unbuttoning -- how much remains of downright existence? The summer of a dormouse.

It is vey difficult to draw away from the face of God—it is like a warm fire, it is like dear sleep, it is like a great anthem, yet there is a stillness all about it, a stillness full of lights.

Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.

Beulah drifts deeper. Part of her knows tonight is the night she will not wake from her slumber. Come morning she will be gone, and this house will be Horton's.

I'm a shaky traveler, she said. I can't even sleep through a flight, I have to be awake for the crash.

Everyone knew that bugs traveled in packs. Only the stupid ones got caught. The smart ones lay in wait for her to go to sleep so they could attack.

Kylie, the fashion outcast, was in jeans, a Golden State Warriors sweatshirt, and some residual wood shavings. The fact that she had more clothes to sleep in than to go out in said a lot about her.

of processing and analyzing: two hours of sleep. Cost of thinking: two more hours of sleep. Cost of giving the elusive more to the insanely sexy Stone Wilder: priceless.