He was afraid of touching his own wrist. He never attempted to sleep on his left side, even in those dismal hours of the night when the insomniac longs for a third side after trying the two he has.
Things happen or they don't happen, that's all. Nothing is accomplished by sweat and struggle. Nearly everything which we call life is just insomnia, an agony because we've lost the habit of falling asleep. We don't know how to let go. We're like a Jack-in-the-box perched on top of a spring and the more we struggle the harder it is to get back in the box.
This is how it is with insomnia. Everything is so far away, a copy of a copy of a copy. The insomnia distance of everything, you can't touch anything and nothing can touch you.
When you're gripped by anxiety, worry, insomnia, or panic, make yourself shiver, quiver, tremble, and shudder. It seems silly, but it really works.
The creak of bed springs suffering under the weight of a restless man is as lonely a sound as I know.
When Ronan thought of Gansey, he thought of moving into Monmouth Manufacturing, of nights spent in companionable insomnia, of a summer searching for a king, of Gansey asking the Gray Man for his life. Brothers.
Man should forget his anger before he lies down to sleep.
I don't try to match wine with food, I just drink what I like. And I think a lot of people are going towards that now, which never used to be in the past.
I studied all about Gauguin. He was a banker. He was a banker who - he used to paint on Sundays. And one day he hated himself for painting on Sundays.
What is that one crucifixion compared to the daily kind any insomniac endures?
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