“there is some achingthat will only heal…in the mosque of sleep.”

“Dark circles under my eyes sink deeper and deeper into my skull, in contrast to my pale skin there is an undeniable resemblance to a fresh corpse.”

“It’s 4am again and I’m just getting started. People are boring and I want to burn with excitement or anger and bleed, bleed through my words. I want to get all fucked up and write real and raw and ugly and beautifully. I bet you’re sleeping safe and calm, and you can stay there, it’s safer there, and you wouldn’t stand one night on this journey my mind wanders off to every night you close your eyes. I’ll stay here one day and I will never come down. I promise I can fly before I hit the ground. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. I swear, it doesn’t hurt.”

“The stillness and stasis of bed are the perfect opposite of travel: inertia is what I’ve come to consider the default mode, existentially and electronically speaking. Bed, its utter inactivity, offers a glimpse of eternity, without the drawback of being dead.”

“Ich werde stehen und warten.Ich werde müde werden.Ich werde nicht einschlafen.Ich werde sterben.”

“He had the face of one who walks in his sleep, and for a wild moment the idea came to me that perhaps he was not normal, not altogether sane. There were people who had trances, I had surely heard of them, and they followed strange laws of which we could know nothing, they obeyed the tangled orders of their own sub-conscious minds. Perhaps he was one of them, and here we were within six feet of death.”

“How can non-existence get sick of itself?Everytime you wake up, you appear again out of nowhere. And so does everything else. Death just means the replacement of the usual morning waking with something else, something quite impossible even to think about. We don’t even have the instrument to do it, because our mind & our world are the same thing.”

“Sleep!” cried Father Brown. “Sleep. We have come to the end of the ways. Do you know what sleep is? Do you know that every man who sleeps believes in God? It is a sacrament; for it is an act of faith and it is a food. And we need a sacrament, if only a natural one. Something has fallen on us that falls very seldom on men; perhaps the worst thing that can fall on them.”

“Sleep: the stepchild of Death.”

“وعندما أنامُ ليلًا أعرفُ أنني سأنهضُ مجددًا ، ولكن لن يكون هناك فجر بل ظلام فقط”

“Why won’t they let me be? I just need to rest, that’s all, to rest and sleep some, and maybe die a little.”

“If men only felt about death as they do about sleep, all terrors would cease. . . Men sleep contentedly, assured that they will wake the following morning. They should feel the same about their lives.”

“Poems can getsleepless tooand becomethe loneliest thingin the universe.”

“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.”