sleeping

The __use_ is not an artistic mystery, but a mathematical equation. The gift are those ideas you think of as you drift to sleep. The giver is that one you think of when you first awake.

The only thing that comes to a sleeping man is dreams.

I had a dream about you. You were an escalator, and I was a flight of stairs. You thought I was a Luddite, and I thought I was as ostrich, because I hadn__ figured out how to put the fly in flight. One day you broke down, and then you saw that you and I weren__ so different after all.

Stay the night, said the officer, patting a confiscated couch. I'll keep my hands off you. I promise.You have more than hands, said Elie.My feet are safe, too, said the officer. He pointed to a hole in his boots, and they laughed.

I had a dream about you. We installed Dr. Robert Jarvik__ artificial heart in a mannequin and brought it to life, only to later kill it because a creature that__ all fake heart and no brain is what__ commonly called a __olitician,_ and must be destroyed._

I have sometimes thought that the reason the trees are so quiet in the summer is that they are in a sort of ecstasy; it is in winter, when the biologists tell us they sleep, that they are most awake, because the sun is gone and they are addicts without their drug, sleeping restlessly and often waking, walking the dark corridors of forests searching for the sun.

Sleeping on it didn't make accepting it any easier. It seemed like a really bad dream.

The blood is sleeping. But the desire of feeling my own senses has grown deep, filled with an unstoppable tremendous drive to eliminate the lifeless stuff, which has gotten chained to me and lulled me to sleep.The rivers of my veins start to flow more and more powerful in every unit of time like lava underground!

I fall asleepCall it deep while all is well be-Cause my life seems like a freestyle mean-While asleep on the couch I dream it's a written piece and nowThe symphony's soundingShouting out to these feet whose leaps feel foul but quite loudBut howI'm allowed to live my dreamsMy Chimeran team brings the Siberian breedRiding reality free 'til these tires they freezeIn mires in dire need of wires, fire and heat butI love a dark, hard cold heart in the wintery breeze

We live in an era that sleeping with an individual is easier than loving.

The season was waning fastOur nights were growing cold at lastI took her to bed with silk and song,'Lay still, my love, I won__ be long;I must prepare my body for passion.''O, your body you give, but all else you ration.''It is because of these dreams of a sylvan scene:A bleeding nymph to leave me serene...I have dreams of a trembling wench.''You have dreams,' she said, 'that cannot be quenched.''Our passion,' said I, 'should never be feared;As our longing for love can never be cured.Our want is our way and our way is our will,We have the love, my love, that no one can kill.''If night is your love, then in dreams you__l fulfill...This love, our love, that no one can kill.'Yet want is my way, and my way is my will,Thus I killed my love with a sleeping pill.

Nothing happened today. I slept. While asleep I dreamed that I was sleeping.

Dreaming permits each and everyone of us to be quietly insane every night of out lives.

Perhaps that is what I like about these moments of leisurely insight, that come while lying comfortably in the beautiful in-between state of sleeping and waking, dreaming and doing, in which anything is possible and everything is lovely.

All the means we've been given to stay alert we use to ornament our sleep. If instead of endlessly inventing new ways to make life more comfortable we'd apply our ingenuity to fabricating instruments to jog man out of his torpor!

Astride of a grave and a difficult birth.Down in the hole, lingeringly, the grave digger puts on the forceps.We have time to grow old.The air is full of our cries.But habit is a great deadener.At me too someone is looking, of me too someone is saying, He is sleeping, he knows nothing.Let him sleep on.

You're right," Early said. "Those are two different things.""What are?", I asked, surprised that he thought I was right about ANYTHING."Dying and sleeping. A person should be able to do one without the other sneaking up on him.

Who worries for dying? If I close my eyes tonight, I will either dream, or not, or my eyes will open and I will be here again. And if none of those happen, and I do not wake? Who worries for dying?