Quotes About Sleeping

I'm sleeping with a Harvard grad," I said. "The Emory of the North," Becker said.

It was quiet, this late, there in the peaceful neighborhood. The porches were empty. The old people and the families were sleeping. Cars were parked and streets were empty except for Pike and the five cousins, there in the cone of blue light.

holding the pan-pipes only just fallen away from the parted lips; saw the splendid curves of the shaggy limbs disposed in majestic ease on the sward; saw, last of all, nestling between his very hooves, sleeping soundly in entire peace and contentment, the little, round, podgy, childish form of the baby otter.

How did you find me? he said, anger creasing his brow. I pushed his hair back to run a finger over the scar Al had given him. How do you think? He knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you're awake. From the corner, Al shifted his tune. So be good, or I'll rip your fucking head off

Do you have a sleeping bag?" I stared at him. "No. I lost it in the great salt-dip of '06.

Bed is the only place for protracted telephoning. It is also execellently suited to reading, sleeping and listening to canaries. It is not a good place for sex: sex should take place in armchairs, or in bathrooms, or on lawns which have been brushed but not too recently mown, or on sandy beaches if you happen to have been circumcised. If you are too tired to have intercourse except in bed you are probably too tired anyway and should be husbanding your strength.

Faeries like to tangle children's hair when they're sleeping.

Whenever his eyes happen to graze Mindy's, she senses shame on her behalf: because of her prettiness; because she sleeps with Lou; because she keeps telling herself this trip constitutes anthropological research into group dynamics and ethnographic enclaves, when really what she's after is luxury, adventure, and a break from her four insomniac roommates.

The middle place. Not death. Not life. A limbo state of existence filled with the hours of turning the wheels. Eating to not feel hungry. Sleeping to not feel tired. Waking to not feel asleep. The middle place that exists between breaths, in that pause, the slight breathlessness before an exhale and an inhale. Between the crest and the valley. Where the path always meanders cliffside.

When I went back to England after a year away, the country seemed stuck, dozing in a fairy tale, stifled by the weight of tradition.

Typically, I'll wake up at 4:30 in the morning. It's just the continual jet lag residue, just weird sleeping hours.

I am not sleeping with him." I shot him a poisonous glare. "If I had a bumper sticker, it would read, 'Demon slayer, not demon layer.' " "Your mouth says no, but your cleavage says yes.

He supposed that the dream was fragile. If thought about to practically, if analyzed to closely, it might well cease to recur. The dream was probably best left in the back of the mind, at the edges of the mind; within that mental area which comes into its own between waking and sleeping- and, less happily, between sleeping and waking.

Yeah, well, if something goes wrong, it'll give me a chance to shoot your ass and save the taxpayers a lot of money, Fulton said and looked again in the mirror. The humor was gone from Kane's face, replaced by a mask of such malevolence that the detective was suddenly re minded of one of his mother's old sayings about letting sleeping dogs lie.

Sleeping AtlantisSilent cool watersdancing upon her skin ~silent cool waterushering dreams within...

So my last image was as the first. A sleeping youth cloaked in light, who opened his eyes with a smile of recognition for someone who had never been a stranger.

There is a man sleeping in the grass. And over him is gathering the greatest storm of all his days. Such lightening and thunder will come there has never been seen before, bringing death and destruction. People hurry home past him, to places safe from danger. And whether they do not see him there in the grass, or whether they fear to halt even a moment, but they do not wake him, they let him be.

Wake up, Caitlin, Mr. Lensing had said. But what he didn't under­stand was that this dreamland was preferable, walking through this life half-sleeping, everything at arm's length or farther away.

I do my best thinking at night when everyone else is sleeping. No interruptions. No noise. I like the feeling of being awake when no one else is.

Bramble, the fat retired sheepdog who was snoozing by the fire, got up in case she was doing anything interesting, then went back to his busy day job of sleeping, farting, and looking for pastry.

Or, if you were that way inclined, you could think of yourself sitting on the spine of a great beast, only the vertebrae visible. That was how people thought of it in the old days: something was sleeping beneath the waves, and if you were very lucky it let you live on its bumps.

Grief doesn't come in a landslide. It seeps in,while you are sleeping. First you start in dreaming. Then your wake-up time carries over the sadness. And last your whole days are filled like a tumbler of water,filled with an aching that drips over the edge and doesn't have anywhere to go.

Up the road, in his shack, the old man was sleeping again. He was still sleeping on his face and the boy was sitting by him watching him. The old man was dreaming about the lions.

It was good to be in bed, sheets, stretching out full length, dipping his head in the pillow. Good in bed, comfortable, happy, fishing tomorrow, he prayed as he always prayed when he remembered it, for the family, himself, to be a great writer, Kate, the men, Odgar, for good fishing, poor old Odgar, poor old Odgar, sleeping up there at the cottage, maybe not sleeping, maybe not sleeping all night. Still there wasn't anything you could do, not a thing.