Sleep Quotes - Page 4

Do we choose sleep? Hell no and bullshit - we fall. We give ourselves over to possibility, to whim and fancy, to the bed, to the pillow, the tiny white tablet. And these choose for us.

Food," I suggested. "Sleep. That's what I need. To get the hell away from here."Cole frowned at me, as if I'd suggested "ducks" and "yoga".

Rest is essential, but during our periods of rest, we must think to ourselves that in resting we are renewing our energy to fulfill our commitment.

Sleep, those little slices of death — how I loathe them.

Everyone is their own, though they are so alone. They all sit on their imagined thrones, made only of their own bones. Ego and pride make exquisite delusional cushions.

Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the other who would drag us all into the eternal light

I love sleep because it is both pleasant and safe to use. Pleasant because one is in the best possible company and safe because sleep is the consummate protection against the unseemliness that is the invariable consequence of being awake. What you don't know won't hurt you. Sleep is death without the responsibility.

Any idea that takes away sweet sleeps from you will eventually bring to you sweet life. Be diligent and willing to stay awake until your good is better and your better becomes excellent!

For years now, I've wanted to fall asleep. The sort of slipping off, the giving up, the falling part of sleep. Now sleeping is the last thing I want to do.

I'll never wake up in a good mood again.I'm tired of these stinky boots

Sleep is no longer a healing bath, a recuperation of vital forces, but an oblivion, a nightly brush with annihilation.

Two things I can't stand - sitting and sleeping.

The habit is now confirmed in me of spending the greater part of the day in sleep, while by night I wander far and wide through the city under the sedative influence of a tincture which has become necessary to my life

Seven a.m. on the first day of summer vacation was, to her mind, a dangerous time to be awake. Even God had to be sleeping in.

On the big bed, Mamima and Sandeep’s mother began to dream, sprawled in vivid crab-like postures. His aunt lay on her stomach, her arms bent as if she were swimming to the edge of a lake; his mother lay on her back, her feet (one of which had a scar on it) arranged in the joyous pose of a dancer.

Making love with a woman and sleeping with a woman are two separate passions, not merely different but opposite. Love does not make itself felt in the desire for copulation (a desire that extends to an infinite number of women) but in the desire for shared sleep (a desire limited to one woman).

…he wanted to sleep inside her lungs and breathe her blood and be smothered. He wanted her to be a virgin and not a virgin all at once. He wanted to know her. Intimate secrets: Why poetry? Why so sad? Why that grayness in her eyes? Why so alone? Not lonely, just alone - riding her bike across campus or sitting off by herself in the cafeteria - even dancing, she danced alone - and it was the aloneness that filled him with love. He remembered telling her that one evening. How she nodded and looked away. And how, later, when he kissed her, she received the kiss without returning it, her eyes wide open, not afraid, not a virgin’s eyes, just flat and uninvolved.

For several days, I slept. Whether this was a necessary part of physical recovery, or a stubborn retreat from waking reality, I do not know, but I woke only reluctantly to take a little food, falling at once back into a stupor of oblivion, as though the small, warm weight of broth in my stomach were an anchor that pulled me after it, down through the murky fathoms of sleep.

When action grows unprofitable, gather information; when information grows unprofitable, sleep.

In a while, her eyes felt leaden and she felt sleep overpower her, even as she fought to keep her eyes open. In vain, I tried to churn within her, a little nugget of fear, trying desperately to warn her of impending danger.

Our rest is formed by our waking life and our waking life is formed by our sorrows.

To Sleep"O soft embalmer of the still midnight, Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light, Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes,Or wait the "Amen," ere thy poppy throws Around my bed its lulling charities.Then save me, or the passed day will shineUpon my pillow, breeding many woes,— Save me from curious Conscience, that still lordsIts strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole; Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.

However, in part for reasons of organizationalconvenience, modern societies are structured as if all humans had the same sleep requirements; and in many parts of the world there is a satisfying sense of moral rectitude in rising early. The amount of sleep required for buffer dumping would then depend on how much we have both thought and experienced since the last sleep period.

I never was so immensely tickled by anything I had ever said before. I actually woke up twice during the night, and laughed till the bed shook.

He spoke in polished honesty free of liar's filth. He said the hardest words with an unshakable voice, a wide smile, with fear and doubt freezing over his core. The truth was the best route, but the truth could always be costly... another truth. A sad truth.

Until you let go of that bitterness in your heart, it will find a comfortable place to destroy your dreams, your sight and most times, your sleep.

No wonder Sleeping Beauty looked so good...she took long naps, never got old, and didn't have to do anything but snore to get her Prince Charming.

They live, we sleep, we starve, they eat. You must comply with their deceit, don't trust the wolves to guard the sheep. They'll colonize when you close your eyes into a superpower that will never die.

Time to start getting more sleep. This beautiful physique needs royal treatment.

I didn’t mean to snore in your ear, but I wanted to inhale all of what was wrapped up in the comforter with me.

Several people toss and turn in their sleep, startled by the lines of the newspapers in their dreams, knives out, lights out, lights out, knives out!

I had a dream about you. We installed Dr. Robert Jarvik’s artificial heart in a mannequin and brought it to life, only to later kill it because a creature that’s all fake heart and no brain is what’s commonly called a “politician,” and must be destroyed.

I like the posture, but not the yoga. I like the inebriated morning, but not the opium. I like the flower but not the garden, the moment but not the dream. Quiet, my love. Be still. I am sleeping.

And there I was at night, chasing after the full moon behind the clouds like a mad man in search of the reflection of the light of love in another person, without daring to light up the spark of light that I had left within myself. It was nowhere to be seen, but I felt it was out there somewhere. I've surely seen it a couple of days ago up in the sky and my eyes couldn't have lied to me, it was so beautiful, or so it appeared to be. I guess I have to stop stalking what can't be seen for awhile and let the light of the full moon find its way through my messed up soul. Maybe it's time to go to sleep and trust that another sunrise will renew what the full moon couldn't clear away tonight. During all that time, I might've not found the light of the moon, but I rested deeply with the sound of the raindrops, while gazing at the quiet river flowing slowly. What a crucial moment to be alive!

Every time my head hit the pillow, I wondered why I had ever left my bed in the first place.

It was one of those moments of perfect tiredness, of having conquered not only the work at hand, but the night who had blocked the way.

I'll never waste my dreams by falling asleep. Never again.

His life was focused on each single day. For him each night meant a void, a grave, extinction. The capacity to lay oneself down to die at the end of every day, without thinking anything of it, was something he had not yet acquired.

Never give a conscious meaning to your unconscious acts!

I had a dream about you last night... you were crying over spilt ink screaming "the words, the what could have been beautiful words.

Also, I could finally sleep. And this was the real gift, because when you cannot sleep, you cannot get yourself out of the ditch--there's not a chance.

Anything seems possible at night when the rest of the world has gone to sleep.

Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care,The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,Chief nourisher in life's feast.

And in my novels I live many lives. Substitutes of spontaneity to replace a dreary reality. How I live for those inky black words and kaleidoscope colored experiences.

The brittle seeds remained inside my soul, my tears the water that begged them to grow. And though I hate to admit it, you are my sun. Your light and warmth the last variables needed to see the seedlings burst and anchor. The roots in my soul, the flower and fruit in yours.

All the kids from daycare are in dreamland.The froggie has made his last leap.Hell no you can't go to the bathroom.You know where you can go?The f**k to sleep.

Sleep is God. Go worship.

I had a dream about you last night... you were a giant slinky and I watched you fall down the stairs.

I crave the sweet surrender of sleep and my dreams' uncensored communication: no tiresome small talk, sucking up to impress, or tiptoeing around charged topics. Dreams are the naked truth; get ready for it.

I remembered my little brother, Allyn, had appeared so innocent and angelic when he slept--similar to Kerrick. It must be a survival tactic. If Allyn hadn't looked so sweet, we would have killed him while he slept. He had been pure evil when he was awake--similar to Kerrick.

Our dreams are little stories or puzzles that we must solve to be free, Sebastian said. He was reading out loud from Wilson's notebook. My dream is me offering me a solution to the conundrum of my life. My dream is me offering me something that I need and my responsibility to myself is to try to understand what it means. Our dreams are a thin curtain between survival and extinction.

If you can't be the change, you can set an example for change. If you can't set an example for change, you can go and sleep! By all means, you can do something!

Respect towards humanity may get weaken when it comes about Stomach, Shelter and Sleep

Sleep's what we need. It produces an emptiness in us into which sooner or later energies flow.

A stranger sleeps next to me, like a stone beside another stone.

Ah, wonderful sleep. I love to sleep. It's one of the things I'm really good at.

I had a dream about you. We were ice fishing in my freezer. I caught a few cold beers, and you wondered if we should drink them, or throw them back because they were babies.

Some people are married to ideas that they do not love, ideas that do not love them in return. They are married to ideas they do not sleep with, ideas that rob them of their sleep.

Beds aren't for sleeping, and clothes aren't for bed.

One hour's sleep before midnight is worth three after.