We term sleep a death by which we may be literally said to die daily; in fine, so like death, I dare not trust it without my prayers.
We term sleep a death, and yet it is waking that kills us, and destroys those spirits that are the house of life.
To ruminate upon evils, to make critical notes upon injuries, and be too acute in their apprehensions, is to add unto our own tortures, to feather the arrows of our enemies, to lash ourselves with the scorpions of our foes, and to resolve to sleep no more.
Be deaf unto the suggestions of tale-bearers, calumniators, pick-thank or malevolent detractors, who, while quiet men sleep, sowing the tares of discord and division, distract the tranquillity of charity and all friendly society. These are the tongues that set the world on fire--cankerers of reputation, and, like that of Jonah's gourd, wither a good name in a single night.
Sleep is death's younger brother, and so like him, that I never dare trust him without my prayers.
Sleep is a death, O make me try By sleeping, what it is to die, And as gently lay my head On my grave, as now my bed.
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