Sleep Quotes - Page 2

There now remain only a few books, which they call books of the lesser prophets; and as I have already shown that the greater are impostors, it would be cowardice to disturb the repose of the little ones. Let them sleep, then, in the arms of their nurses, the priests, and both be forgotten together.

Gradually, he fell into that deep tranquil sleep which ease from recent suffering alone imparts; that calm and peaceful rest which it is pain to wake from. Who, if this were death, would be roused again to all the struggles and turmoils of life; to all its cares for the present; its anxieties for the future; more than all, its weary recollections of the past!

I had a dream about you. You suggested to split the profits, so I did. I threw one half in the furnace to power the steam engine, and the other half in the air to distract our pursuers.

She sleeps like a cocoyam. A thing without senses. She sleeps like his mother, unplugged from the world.

Dreams are just lies that we tell ourselves while we're asleep.

But who, in these modern times, slept well?

And then, despite all these concerns, Arnette felt her mind begin to loosen, the images of the day unwinding inside her like a spool of thread, pulling her down into sleep.

The soul of the just contemplates in sleep a mysterious heaven.

I never sleep comfortably except when I am at sermon or when I pray to God.

We all woke up this morning and we had with it the amazing return of our conscious mind. We recovered minds with a complete sense of self and a complete sense of our own existence — yet we hardly ever pause to consider this wonder.

Precious is sleep, better to be of stone,while the oppression and the shame still last;not seeing and not hearing, I am blest;so do not wake me, hush! keep your voice down.

The sleep of a labouring man is sweet whether he eat little or much but the abundance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep.

They flew to avoid the horrors of land and sea, Daedalus and Icarus were for few moments free. Though the sun was Icarus' ultimate bane, we came to always remember his name. For he felt the sun's burn, a lesson Daedalus would never learn. When he found his son's corpse and looked upon his face, he saw a smile there fastened in place. He continued his life wondering what his son had seen, hoping it was worth it since his dead smile was so serene. The sun always seemed to mock him after, shining, brilliant, blinding laughter. Daedalus grew withered and haunted by light, preferring the sea's air in the depths of night. He watched lunar birds soar through the stars and away, forever regretting his decision to take flight during the day. He had lost his son to the sun in a twist of anomaly, he wondered which of them truly escaped that day, in all honesty.

It’s perfectly normal, perfectly natural to live in sleep. But to wake up is a revolution in consciousness. To wake up is to break free of nature. To wake up is to rise and unite with the spirit, and nature doesn’t do that for us.

Good night - may you fall asleep in the arms of a dream, so beautiful, you'll cry when you awake.

Now I understand - how sleep allows you to forget, but your pain wakes with the dawn, worse because for a split second you don't remember what you've suffered.

Your clock cannot buy you more time, your bed cannot get you more sleep, your titles cannot acquire you more influence, your fame cannot gain you more honor, and your money cannot earn you more happiness.

...at dawn, the grains of sleep turn to floating black spots, then out of focus the world tilts, and the cat scratches at the door...

Hullo!” said Merry. “So that’s what is bothering you? Now, Pippin my lad, don’t forget Gildor’s saying—the one Sam used to quote: Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.” “But our whole life for months has been one long meddling in the affairs of Wizards,” said Pippin. “I should like a bit of information as well as danger. I should like a look at that ball.” “Go to sleep!” said Merry. “You’ll get information enough, sooner or later. My dear Pippin, no Took ever beat a Brandybuck for inquisitiveness; but is it this time, I ask you?” “All right! What’s the harm in my telling you what I should like: a look at that stone? I know I can’t have it, with old Gandalf sitting on it, like a hen on an egg. But it doesn’t help much to get no more from you than a you-can’t-have-it-so-go-to-sleep!” “Well, what else could I say?” said Merry. “I’m sorry, Pippin, but you really must wait till the morning. I’ll be as curious as you like after breakfast, and I’ll help you in any way I can at wizard-wheedling. But I can’t keep awake any longer. If I yawn any more, I shall split at the ears. Good night!

Sleep is a kind of peace, and I have not yet earned peace.

Sleep, that deplorable curtailment of the joy of life.

She sleeps. And now she wakes each day a little less. And, each day, takes less and less nourishment, as if grudging the least moment of wakefulness, for, from the movement under her eyelids, and the somnolent gestures of her hands and feet, it seems as if her dreams grow more urgent and intense, as if the life she lives in the closed world of dreams is now about to possess her utterly, as if her small, increasingly reluctant wakenings were an interpretation of some more vital existence, so she is loath to spend even those necessary moments of wakefulness with us, wakings strange as her sleepings. Her marvellous fate - a sleep more lifelike than the living, a dream which consumes the world.'And, sir,' concluded Fevvers, in a voice that now took on the sombre, majestic tones of a great organ, 'we do believe . . . her dream will be the coming century.'And, oh, God . . . how frequently she weeps!

This love is hard core. Let's make it soft porn.

They surrounded me, bare me. Their fingers like tentacles and their desires like knives. Their fingers traced my secrets and their desires carved my skin.

Maybe his nightmare had been about me.

Sleep had ceased to be a mere physical necessity; it was something voluptuous, and debauch more than a relief.

Waking up in the same place in which you dozed off has never happened either to you or to anyone else. Ever. Earth does not stop moving when you sleep. Every hour that passes, Earth travels a little more than 800,000 kilometres around the centre of our galaxy. And so do you. That's the equivalent of about twenty trips around the planet. Every hour. No one minds, though, as long as their bed stays still beneath their body.

Sleep like you can never be deadDream as if you have a soul inside your head

I appreciate my my sleep In sleep my conversation is witty My home is dusted My office work is up to date The dog is even well behaved And food is on the table on timeBut then when I'm asleep I don't have you to clutter and confuseMy hungry heart

Don't fuckin' sleep on yourself

Sleeping was her latest discovery. 'It's so wonderful. One simply shuts one's eyes, that's all. It's so delicious.

I had a dream about you last night... Unfortunately, it wasn't a dream.

Her words were slickly lacquered, dripping with venom that singed the air as they fell. She traced her tongue up my neck and whispered in a way that would shatter glass. "It's the words inbetween," she said, "those are the ones I truly mean." Then, her toes curled with the release of the truth she kept hidden.

Most animals sleep in a hole in the ground or hanging from a tree. Man alone has made for himself an elaborate resting place. And yet he is the only one to have developed the alarm clock to rouse himself from it, the only species to spend sixteen or more hours of each day away from it.

My mother used to say not sleeping was the sign of a guilty mind. It could have been. There was a lot in my mind to feel guilty about. When you’re drunk and trying to sleep, your thoughts are visited by the ghosts of those deeds whose heat still glows hottest in your personal darkness. Our actions burn much longer than the moments in which they occur. And drunks like me, we hide from the glow of the embers by fueling other fires and hiding within the flames.

Those with a moral deficit put on a good show, and sleep like a baby.

There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep.

Life will hack off your head and shit down your neck every chance it gets. I've found that consuming drugs and booze, listening to music and always having an excuse in the best way to tip the scales.

Afternoons are hard. Mornings are pure evil from the pits of hell, which is why I don't do them anymore.

Your brain needs plenty of rest to function at it's optimal level. Go to sleep!

It was quite a sad thing,the way I watched you sleep like nothing could go wrong and I did not want to harm it, I did not want to blur it, but how could I notwhen everything I’ve ever known has slowly gone away.

And in the night you realize, when you wake out of a dream, overcome and captivated by the enchantment of visions that crowd in on each other, just how fragile a handhold, how tenuous a boundary separates us from darkness - we are little flames, inadequately sheltered by thin walls from the tempest of dissolution and insensibility in which we flicker and are often all but extinguished. Then the muted sounds of battle surrounds us, and we creep into ourselves and stare wide-eyed into the night.

We both fell asleep wrapped up together with the wolves still lullaby-ing us in the background

I don't sleep. I just let my body lie itself into numbness and lie to myself that I can't hear, see, or feel anything.

Angelo," he said, and felt the bed rock as Angelo shuddered, caught halfway between REM atonia - the inhibition of movement caused by the shutdown of monoamines in the brain - and waking.

I'd thought once, actually, of taking your mind, if you asked. I'd thought I could help you fall asleep at night."He opened his mouth to say something. Shut it again. His face closed for a moment, his unreadable mask falling into place. He spoke softly. "But that wouldn't be fair; for after I slept you'd be left awake, with no one to help you sleep.

I held my breath tightly against the shivers coursing through my body. Darkness ate away the edges of my vision and numbness stole away my fingers. I kept holding though. Watching the last bubble of precious air escape my lips. Then it became all black. But I never let go.

A fickle lover, sleep takes us as it will, when it wants, and how. Sensing her desperate need, however, it draws Corrie deeply into its embrace, somewhere between her tears and terror.

When twilight sleeps holding the nightIn your arms you embrace me tightRunaway hours clenched by kisses More of your love my heart misses

Hasn't it dawned on your twilight mind,even in the seconds span of a falling star, that you might be missing something more than your sleep?

I am here to tell youWe are all of us just as mighty as planets—and you too,We'll let you in, we've got stalwart to spare—But you might have to sleep on the floor.

It’s not TIME that heals everything, it is SLEEP...Sleeping is the perfect answer to all doubts and troubles.Leaving the world of reality behind and disappearing in to a world of make-believe and imaginations, is a solace you get from nothing else...

In practice it is death that works soseductively behind the image of its brother, sleep

A man that sleeps all night wastes too much of life.

In a way, she became the sand to my hourglass... she made watching that trickling sand a little more bearable. I no longer worried about what would happen when the sand ran out. I began to see the spark each grain held as it fell.

To be or not to be, that is the question: to go on living, fighting against this sea of troubles, or to die and end everything? Why be afraid of death? To die is to sleep, no more. Perhaps to dream? Yes, that's the problem: in that sleep of death, what dreams will come?

Dreams are memories we’ve lost to sleep.

I rest in ease, knowing there are others out there, whispering themselves to sleep, just like me.

No real reason for the lack of sleep, it’s a disadvantage of rotating shifts that every so often your body clock just throws up it’s hands in despair and goes to sulk behind the sofa – leaving you suffering insomnia and/or intense fatigue.

A beautiful nap this afternoon that put velvet between my vertebrae.