Quotes About Sleep

Pitch hadn't missed any meals. The car swayed when he climbed out. The old man's phone rang nine times before he answered. The old man had staff to field calls, especially in the middle of the night, but he'd given Riley special access. His voice sounded phlegmy with sleep. "Hello? Who is this?" "Riley. Sorry to wake you, sir." The old man cleared his throat. "Let's hear it.

I went to bed at twenty minutes after one that night, and still the networks were on the air, rehashing the landing, replaying the interviews, offering taped "live" coverage of something that was no more alive than a nightmare.

THE CHOKE HOLD cut off blood to a man's brain, putting him to sleep like a laptop when its battery is low. It was an effective way to subdue a person, though sometimes that person did not wake up. Pike sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the man to wake.

Sleep was like sex. The less you had, the more you craved it

The mind-is not the heart. I may yet live, as I know others live, To wish in vain to let go with the mind- Of cares, at night, to sleep; but nothing tells me That I need learn to let go with the heart.

El bosque es hermoso, oscuro y profundo. Pero tengo promesas que cumplir, y millas que recorrer antes de dormir. Y millas que recorrer antes de dormir.

Better go ahead and dance your jig round that if you've got to, and get it over, and then perhaps we can go on and not waste any more time over rubbish-heaps. Can we EAT a doormat? or sleep under a door-mat? Or sit on a door-mat and sledge home over the snow on it, you exasperating rodent?

AESTHETICS OF COMEDY ASLEEP Don't wake the clown Or he may knock you down.

It was surprising to him, how quickly she could fall asleep.

Most people seemed to think that you fell asleep and then started dreaming, but as far as Minny could tell, the process was exactly the reverse — you started dreaming and that enabled you to fall asleep.

He slept and no dreams came to him, his mind sinking into emptiness, the night devoid of shocks, of the heaving fishhook pulls on his heart, like lines tautening sharply against distant catches.

That's how children deal with terror, they fall asleep.

Thinking of the anguish of his final days and my own helplessness in the face of it, makes everything I have done, everything I want to do, seem as unsubstantial as the little vows you make yourself as you're going to sleep, the ones you've already forgotten by the time you wake up.

We'd each roll to our side of the bed and let our own savior take us away. Soraya's was sleep. Mine, as always, was a book.

That's how children deal with terror. They fall asleep.

So, then. You want a story and I will tell you one. But just the one. Don't either of you ask me for more. It's late, and we have a long day of travel ahead of us, Pari, you and I. You will need your sleep tonight. And you too, Abdullah. I am counting on you, boy, while your sister and I are away. So is your mother. Now. One story, then. Listen, both of you, listen well. And don't interrupt.

and my own helplessness in the face of it, makes everything I have done, everything I want to do, seem as unsubstantial as the little vows you make yourself as you're going to sleep, the ones you're already forgotten by the time you wake up

He didn't so much live with us as occupy space. And precious little of it. Sometimes, at the market, or in the park, I'd notice how other people hardly seemed to even see him, like he wasn't there at all. I'd look up from a book and realize Sohrab had entered the room, had sat across from me, and I hadn't noticed. He walked like he was afraid to leave behind footprints. He moved as if not to stir the air around him. Mostly, he slept.

That's how children deal with terror. They fall asleep. I

of you ask me for more. It's late, and we have a long day of travel ahead of us, Pari, you and I. You will need your sleep tonight. And you too, Abdullah.

You won't have to do a thing. Ever again. You rest, sleep in, plant a garden. Whatever you want, you ask and I'll get it for you.

Go to sleep, baby, Mama will sing. Of blue butterflies, and dragonfly wings. Moonlight and sunbeams, raiment so fine. Silver and gold, for baby of mine. Go to sleep, baby. Sister will tell, of wolves and of lambs, and demons who fell.

Just let me sleep, she grumbled. Let me sleep, and I'll sign a paper that you're a fucking angel.

Good Lord, I thought, squinting at the bright glare of a late-July morning. No wonder I slept through this. It was noisy with shrieking birds, and already hot.