Best 4943 quotes in «sleep quotes» category

And at 3am you sit near the window and wonder if there is magic... because all you need are some fairies to take your pain away and help you sleep... you take a book to read... you take a pen and a paper to write...you cling on some music that might just make you fall asleep... yet nothing helps... another sleepless night and all you want is the dawn to break soon....

And I feel like a real Dad when I read to her at night. She won't sleep without one story, at least.

And I'd noticed her eyes, the lightest blue, and alive, moving here and there and then staring straight on. And now there's darkness under her eyes like she hasn't slept well for too many days, almost like someone punched her just hard enough to leave a little black, a quarter-moon smudge under each eye.

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.

And in that foggy place between sleep and waking, he could have been anyone. That was what she liked most about him: In the darkness, he became whomever she wanted.

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.

And once the ripples still and the water returns to its unwavering calm, even the pebble that broke its surface will be forgotten. And the world will go on.

And Milo, full of thoughts and questions, curled up on the pages of tomorrow's music and eagerly awaited the dawn.

And she did seem then to go to sleep instantly: the quick flight into oblivion of the chronically unhappy person.

And sometimes when I tilt my head, in that deep sleep, I realize I forgot to tell you what happened at work, in the thick of, all other rubbish daily stuff. And then I hate to believe, it’s more than 5 hours to hit the snooze, and now suddenly the night seems longer- than any lazy afternoon. I want to talk to you now, before I forget How I have imagined you will react, word by word, And act by act. But I kind of manage dozing off in a few minutes, And I clearly forget it morning, This entire instance. But tonight- when you are asleep, and I am Wide awake like a snake, I don’t say I forgot any Buzz to discuss, but I have this insane gush Of words of tell you I how much I have loved you through. Precisely none of this should be forgotten, So I decide to write this poem and tell you, I am so much in my moment of truth.

And she was not beautiful asleep. Her expression slack and not angelic. The very ordinariness of it so beautiful he felt a yearning to be something more than he was or could be. And as good a player as he was, he knew as he turned on the reel to reel and hugged the Fender once again that nothing he composed would ever be as beautiful as her ordinary sleep. Watching her he played the music of her sleeping. And by surrendering made something beautiful.

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.

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!

And they danced with laughter and tears. They swung each other round and round, the first and last time in years.

And though they fell as ashes, their shadows drifted as leaves.

And yet I was aware of the nothingness. I was awake in the sleep, somehow. I felt good. Almost happy.

And yet, I was scared of falling asleep, because the moment I fell asleep my wounds would heal and right then I didn’t want that to happen. Right then, I found a strange but real comfort in the pain.

An entrepreneur with strong network makes money even when he is asleep.

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.

Anger makes you smaller, while forgiveness forces you to grow beyond who you were.

An intricate string made up of infinite knots and curls. Taking a step back, it really did seem so fragile. As if the smallest breeze of opportunity would cause it to snap. It held strong though, fastened to me and you as a line of steel.

...an irresistible sleep fell deeply on his eyes, the sweetest, soundest oblivion, still as the sleep of death itself...

Anna woke with the wonderful feeling bad sleepers have when they know they have slept well. As if they have stolen something and got away with it. At these times the memories of what led up to such deep sleep keep their distance for a few seconds and those few seconds are perhaps the only time the world can ever be said to show mercy.

An outline, my body, no mass or feeling, A dark reflection spread from floor to ceiling, The faceless copycat stalks me day after day, A personal eclipse of the sun never going astray, Each movement mine in a world of its own, Whispering shades unseen of a different home, A skewed yet comparable story occurs every day, Removed, though not far, less than halfway, The whiter the glow the blacker the stain, An ethereal cachet remaining midst the acidic rain, A trust and intimacy of a curious nature, I follow, it follows, we follow a stranger.

An unrested mind is prone to wander into unfruitful avenues; it is nothing that a good night's sleep cannot cure.

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!

Anyone can love a rose, but it takes a lot to love a leaf. It's ordinary to love the beautiful, but it's beautiful to love the ordinary.

Are you a lark, an owl or a hummingbird? Lark, also called early chronotype, is someone who does usually wake up very early. They are most active during morning around 6:00 am. Approximately 10% of people are larks. Owl, also called late chronotype, is someome who does usually wake up very late. They are most active in the evening around 6:00 pm. They usually drink a lot of coffee and accumulate a massive sleep debt as they go through life. Approximately 10% of people are owls. The rest, around 80% of people, are hummingbirds. Some hummingbirds are more larkish, some more owlish and some are in between.

Anyone who has experienced a debilitating sleep disorder knows what it is like to be the walking dead.

Are you always so cynical?' said Angelica. 'No,' said Katherine. 'Sometimes I'm asleep.

Anyone who claims good or evil isn't one or either, they're just a liar... the worst kind of liar... the liar that doesn't even know they're lying. We're human. We're good during the day and evil at night, half the time those roles are reversed, that's what it's all about.

Are you still mad at me?" "Yes." "I'll go back to sleep, then." "Good.

As I watched the sky morph shades of amber and amethyst, of fiery orange and smoldering pink, I always wondered if colors and images like these once inspired the greats before us to construct their beauty and masterpieces.

As a young passionate dreamer, when your dreams get broken in a flicker, for the rest of your life, you just stop sleeping early at night.

As happiness recedes into dreams, the passion ended where it began: in sleepness.

A single lie is the father of all lies

A sleeping man would miss the best of the evening, and the moonrise as well.

Asleep, I heard the sound of sleeping breath. Of one sleeping breath fumbling for another. They must be tangles with you, my breathing, my sleep, and my dreams. And I wanted to keep dreaming.

Asleep you can experience many hours whilst only a few waking moments have passed. This is why dreams are an ideal platform for training.

AS I SLEEP I fear that darkness Finds me As I sleep When life is quieted Midnight’s brutal feet Cast upon me Cementing me Against my pillow In a heaven Of black roses

A smoke before sleep. The uncounted hours of unremembered dreams. Those of a new awaking in a new time and place.

As soon as I got into the library I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I got a whiff of the leather on all the old books, a smell that got real strong if you picked one of them up and stuck your nose real close to it when you turned the pages. Then there was the the smell of the cloth that covered the brand-new books, books that made a splitting sound when you opened them. Then I could sniff the the paper, that soft, powdery, drowsy smell that comes off the page in little puffs when you're reading something or looking at some pictures, kind of hypnotizing smell. I think it's the smell that makes so many folks fall asleep in the library. You'll see someone turn a page and you can imagine a puff of page powder coming up real slow and easy until it starts piling on a person's eyelashes, weighing their eyes down so much they stay down a little longer after each blink and finally making them so heavy that they just don't come back up at all. Then their mouths open and their heads start bouncing up and down like they're bobbing in a big tub of of water for apples and before you know it... they're out cold and their face thunks smack-dab on the book. That's the part that makes librarians the maddest. They get real upset if folks start drooling in the books

As so many commitments demand your time Or your shut-eye important be, Your attraction to me must in some way lack, Such a pity to spend time on thee.

As the bus took us north on a connection of dark farm roads and smaller highways, I started to wonder where all the cars were. How could the streets be so empty? How could people sleep when there was so much at stake, so much happening, when there were so many reasons to be awake and alive? And I wondered how it was that I could feel both empty, like these streets, and yet so full at the same time. And those weren't the only contrasting poles inside me. I felt sad and happy. Scared and exhilarated. I felt young and old.

Asta Sollilja slept on, her head in the corner, mouth open, chin up, and head back, with one hand under her ear and the other half-open on the coverlet as if she thought in her sleep that someone would come and lay happiness in her palm.

Astray from a deep sleep chronic as I write by phonics, like insomnia I will always live the onyx night for revealing, and, upon it, still I'll steal the bright light of day right away just to keep building at speeds hypersonic.

At home in bed that first night I had patchy, mundane dreams about normal things. It would be nobler and less uncomfortable to write that I tossed sleeplessly.

Astronomers do not disclose to their nighttime support staff that they are at significant risk of developing shift work sleep disorder (SWSD) and the associated range of other sleep disorders.

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

...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...