I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?
One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.
A well-spent day brings happy sleep.
I hate dreaming because when you want to sleep, you want to sleep. Dreaming is work. Next thing you know, I have to build a go-cart with my ex-landlord.
The black masses want not to be shrunk from as though they are plague-ridden. They want not to be walled up in slums, in the ghettos, like animals. They want to live in an open, free society where they can walk with their heads up, like men, and women! Few white people realize that many black people today dislike and avoid spending more time than they must about white people. This 'integration' image, as it is popularly interpreted, has millions of vain, self-exalted white people convinced that black people want to sleep in bed with them - and that's a lie!
The importance of insomnia is so colossal that I am tempted to define man as the animal who cannot sleep. Why call him a rational animal when other animals are equally reasonable? But there is not another animal in the entire creation that wants to sleep yet cannot.
If that happens to us," she whispered, unable to wrap her mind around the idea of a life so long and so full of tragedy, "if we feel ourselves, who we are together, becoming lost in time, I don't want to Sleep. I want to say good-bye when I'm still me and you're still you.
Annabeth didn’t want to sleep, but her body betrayed her. Her eyelids turned to lead. “Percy, wake me for second watch. Don’t be a hero.” He gave her that smirk she’d come to love. “Who, me?” He kissed her, his lips parched and feverishly warm. “Sleep.
I don’t want to sleep alone,” she says gently. And I don’t force her to. Sarai falls fast asleep curled up next to me in my bed. Right where I want her.
Isabelle: Do you want some soup? Jace: No Isabelle: Do you think Hodge will want some soup? Jace: No one wants soup Simon: I want some soup! Jace: No, you don't. You just want to sleep with Isabelle
Yes, I wanted to win! I wanted the belt! I'm a belt mark! I want to sleep with it! I want to wear that and nothing else to church on Sunday!
Fifty percent of people want to sleep with me, and the other 50 percent want to kill me.
My mother gets all mad at me if I stay in a hotel. I'm 31-years-old, and I don't want to sleep on a sleeping bag down in the basement. It's humiliating.
It's not who wants to sleep with you; It's who wants to sleep with you again.
I came from a generation where women were almost deified, and like Groucho Marx's line, "I wouldn't want to be a member of a club that would have me as a member", I thought, "I wouldn't want to sleep with a woman who would sleep with me!" It took me a long time to work my way through that.
Sometimes I train in the middle of the night, all on my own. Can't sleep, don't want to sleep, get up, go to the gym, work. This is early for me, being here at half ten in the morning, this is really early, and I'm only here because I screwed up yesterday and kept you hanging around. Other times I'll call up my wrestling coach, or my jiu jitsu coach, or my deep-tissue guy, and want to really focus on one part of what I do. I train in all these different disciplines.
Hillary Clinton's 506-page memoir has come out. So much of her personality shines through, that in the end, you, too, will want to sleep with an intern.
I sincerely want to meet the girl that was meant for me, but I want to sleep with the girls that weren't.
But, she knew, you didn’t have to marry your soulmate, and you didn’t even have to marry an Interesting. You didn’t always need to be the dazzler, the firecracker, the one who cracked everyone up, or made everyone want to sleep with you, or be the one who wrote and starred in the play that got the standing ovation. You could cease to be obsessed with the idea of being interesting.
Actually, you said Love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s terrifying. No one will ever want to sleep with you.
He found Luciana sitting alone at a table in the Allied officers' night club, where the drunken Anzac major who had brought her there had been stupid enough to desert her for the ribald company of some singing comrades at the bar. "All right, I'll dance with you," she said, before Yossarian could even speak. "But I won't let you sleep with me." "Who asked you?" Yossarian asked her. "You don't want to sleep with me?" she exclaimed with surprise. "I don't want to dance with you.
I want to sleep like the birds then wake to write you again without hope that you read me.
In a building with apartments, of course, you want to make connections. Life is easier that way. There's salt if you don't have salt; you can knock at someone's door, like in any city. But you know, you can hear the others, and you want to sleep, you get annoyed.
The one man you most want to sleep with may be the worst choice of all.
I just want to sleep. A coma would be nice. Or amnesia. Anything, just to get rid of this, these thoughts, whispers in my mind. Did he rape my head, too?
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