Quotes About Insomnia

If only I could bottle up the drowsiness that plagued me during the day so I could use it at bedtime. - Amanda Rosenbloom

The midnight disease is a kind of emotional insomnia; at ever conscious moment its victim—even if he or she writes at dawn, or in the middle of the afternoon—feels like a person lying in a sweltering bedroom, with the window thrown open, looking up at a sky filled with stars and airplanes, listening to the narrative of a rattling blind, an ambulance, a fly trapped in a Coke bottle, while all around him the neighbours soundly sleep.

writers—like insomniacs—are so accident-prone, so obsessed with the calculus of bad luck and missed opportunities, so liable to rumination and a concomitant inability to let go of a subject, even when urged repeatedly to do so.

This is in my opinion why writers—like insomniacs—are so accident-prone, so obsessed with the calculus of bad luck and missed opportunities, so liable to rumination and a concomitant inability to let go of a subject, even when urged repeatedly to do so.

Insomniacs know better than anyone how it would be to haunt a house.

In the United States, melatonin is commonly taken as a treatment for jet lag or insomnia. It is, as James Hamblin has written, "one of the very few hormones that you can purchase in the United States without a prescription. It is considered a dietary supplement and therefore held to essentially no premarket standards of quality, safety, or efficacy.

Sleepwalking? Nightmare? Homicidal psycho jungle cat!

one burst after another as my wife turned in her sleep. I was a single monkey trying to type the opening lines of my Hamlet

Sleep has no place it can call its own.

Water sleeps, and the enemy is sleepless.

I couldn't sleep for the longest time. I lay in bed watching the wreaths of sea mist sweep by. At times the mist cleared, and the sea for some distance could be seen in the glare of the lightning, which now came thick and fast, followed by such sudden peals of thunder that the whole sky overhead trembled under the shock of the footsteps of the storm.

I wonder why I don't go to bed and go to sleep. But then it would be tomorrow, so I decide that no matter how tired, no matter how incoherent I am, I can skip on hour more of sleep and live.

The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper, Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars Letting in the light, peephole after peephole--- A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things. --from Insomniac, written April 1961

I'm doped and thick from my last sleeping pill.

It was sometime in October; she had long ago lost track of all the days and it really didn't matter because one was like another and there were no nights to separate them because she never slept any more.

I'm doped and thick from my last sleeping pill.

I hadn't slept for seven nights. My mother told me I must have slept, it was impossible not to sleep in all that time, but if I slept, it was with my eyes wide open, for I had followed the green, luminous course of the second hand and the minute hand and the hour hand of the bedside clock through their circles and semi-circles, every night for seven nights, without missing a second, or a minute, or an hour.

If I slept, it was with my eyes wide open, for I had followed the green, luminous course of the second hand and the minute hand and the hour hand of the bedside clock through their circles and semicircles, every night for seven nights, without missing a second, or a minute, or an hour.

And yet I feel that sleep somehow

During his reading hours, which were between one and five o'clock in the morning, but not every morning, he had come to the disconcerting conclusion that whistling was not an important theme in literature.

Mas tudo num plano me-ta-fí-sico. Já que Horácio, as palavras... Quer dizer que as palavras, para Horácio... (uma questão já muito remoída em vários momentos de insônia).

Como a veces no puede dormir, en vez de contar corderitos contesta mentalmente la correspondencia atrasada, porque su mala conciencia tiene tanto insomnio como él.

Me acosté y no quise leer, capaz que hice mal porque no me venía el sueño y me pasaba lo de siempre a esa hora en que se pierde la voluntad y las ideas saltan de todos lados y parecen ciertas, todo lo que se piensa de golpe es cierto y casi siempre horrible y no hay manera de quitárselo de encima ni rezando.

Salir, hacer, poner al día, no eran cosas que ayudaran a dormirse.