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Sleep: Quotations from Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations
What means this heaviness that hangs upon me? This lethargy that creeps through all my senses? Nature, oppress'd and harrass'd out with care, Sinks down to rest.— ADDISON — Cato. Act V. Sc. 1.
What probing deep Has ever solved the mystery of sleep?— T. B. ALDRICH — Human Ignorance.
How happy he whose toil Has o'er his languid pow'rless limbs diffus'd A pleasing lassitude; he not in vain Invokes the gentle Deity of dreams. His pow'rs the most voluptuously dissolve In soft repose; on him the balmy dews Of Sleep with double nutriment descend.— ARMSTRONG — The Art of Preserving Health. Bk. III. L. 385.
When the sheep are in the fauld, and a' the kye at hame, And all the weary world to sleep are gane.— LADY ANN BARNARD — Auld Robin
Gray. 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.— SIR THOMAS BROWNE — Religio Medici. Pt. II. Sec. XII.
How he sleepeth! having drunken Weary childhood's mandragore, From his pretty eyes have sunken Pleasures to make room for more- Sleeping near the withered nosegay which he pulled the day before.— E. B. BROWNING — A Child Asleep.
Of all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward unto souls afar, Along the Psalmist's music deep, Now tell me if that any is, For gift or grace, surpassing this- "He giveth His beloved sleep."— E. B. BROWNING — The Sleep.
Sleep on, Baby, on the floor, Tired of all the playing, Sleep with smile the sweeter for That you dropped away in! On your curls' full roundness stand Golden lights serenely- One cheek, pushed out by the hand, Folds the dimple inly.— E. B. BROWNING — Sleeping and
Watching. Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy.— BYRON — The Dream. St. 1.
Now, blessings light on him that first invented this same sleep! it covers a man all over, thoughts and all, like a cloak; it is meat for the hungry, drink for the thirsty, heat for the cold, and cold for the hot. It is the current coin that purchases all the pleasures of the world cheap; and the balance that sets the king and the shepherd, the fool and the wise man, even. There is only one thing, which somebody once put into my head, that I dislike in sleep; it is, that it resembles death; there is very little difference between a man in his first sleep, and a man in his last sleep.— CERVANTES — Don Quixote. Pt. II. Ch. LXVIII.
O sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary Queen the praise be given ! She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven That slid into my soul.— COLERIDGE — Ancient Mariner. Pt. V. St. 1.
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing, And may this storm be but a mountain-birth, May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth! C.— COLERIDGE — Dejection. An Ode. St. 8.
On eyes that watch as well as eyes that weep Descends the solemn mystery of sleep, Toiling and climbing to the very close, The weary Body, longing for repose, On the gained level of the day's ascent, Halts for the night and pitches there its tent.— ABRAHAM COLES — Man, the Microcosm,
and the Cosmos. Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born; Relieve my languish, and restore the light.— SAMUEL DANIEL — Sonnet. 51. To
Delia. Awake thee, my Lady-Love! Wake thee, and rise! The sun through the bower peeps Into thine eyes.— GEORGE DARLEY — Waking Song.
Sister Simplicitie! Sing, sing a song to me,一 Sing me to sleep! Some legend low and long, Slow as the summer song Of the dull Deep.— SIDNEY DOBELL — A Sleep Song.
O sleep! in pity thou art made A double boon to such as we; Beneath closed lids and folds of deepest shade We think we see.— FROTHINGHAM — The Sight of the Blind.
Oh! lightly, lightly tread! A holy thing is sleep, On the worn spirit shed, And eyes that wake to weep.— MRS. HEMANS — The Sleeper.
Then Sleep and Death, two twins of winged race, Of matchless swiftness, but of silent pace.— HOMER — Iliad. Bk. XVI. L. 831.
Pope's trans. O sleep, we are beholden to thee, sleep; Thou bearest angels to us in the night, Saints out of heaven with palms. Seen by thy light Sorrow is some old tale that goeth not deep; Love is a pouting child. JEAN INGELOw-Sleep. I never take a nap after dinner but when I have had a bad night, and then the nap takes me.— SAM'L JOHNSON — Boswell's Life of
Johnson. 1775. O magte sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth! O unconfined Restraint! imprisoned liberty! great key To golden palaces.— KEATS — Endymion. Bk. I. L. 452.
Breathe thy balm upon the lonely, Gentle Sleep! As the twilight breezes bless With sweet scents the wilderness, Ah, let warm white dove-wings only Round them sweep! LUCY LARCOm-Sleep Song. Dreams of the summer night! Tell her, her lover keeps Watch! while in slumbers light She sleeps! My lady sleeps! Sleeps!— LONGFELLOW — Spanish Student. Act I. Sc. 3. Serenade. St. 4.
For I am weary, and am overwrought With too much toil, with too much care distraught, And with the iron crown of anguish crowned. Lay thy soft hand upon my brow and cheek, O peaceful Sleep!— LONGFELLOW — Sleep.
Thou driftest gently down the tides of sleep. LONGFELLOw-To a Child. L. 115. For his sleep Was aery light, from pure digestion bred.— MILTON — Paradise Lost. Bk. V. L. 3.
The timely dew of sleep Now falling with soft slumb'rous weight inclines Our eyelids.— MILTON — Paradise Lost. Bk. IV. L. 615.
While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such a consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feather'd sleep.— MILTON — Il Penseroso. L. 142.
O, we're a' noddin', nid, nid, noddin'; O we're a' noddin' at our house at hame. C.— LADY NAIRNE — We're a' Noddin'.
Balow, my babe, lye still and sleipe, It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.— PERCY — Reliques. Lady Anne
Bothwell's Lament. "God bless the man who first invented sleep!" So Sancho Panza said and so say I; And bless him, also, that he didn't keep His great discovery to himself, nor try To make it, -as the lucky fellow might- A close monopoly by patent-right.— J. G. SAXE — Early Rising.
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.— SCOTT — Lady of the Lake. Canto I. St. 31.
Bid them come forth and hear me, Or at their chamber-door I'll beat the drum Till it cry sleep to death.— Shakespeare — King Lear. Act II. Sc. 4. L. 118.
But I pray you, let none of your people stir me: I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. Midsummer-Night's Dream. Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 42. Fast asleep? It is no matter; Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber; Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies, Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. Julius Cæsar. Act II. Sc. 1. L. 229. He sleeps by day More than the wild-cat.— Shakespeare — Merchant of Venice. Act II. Sc. 5. L. 47.
He that sleeps feels not the tooth-ache.— Shakespeare — Cymbeline. Act V. Sc. 4. L. 177.
I let fall the windows of mine eyes.— Shakespeare — Richard III. Act V. Sc. 3. L. 116.
Methought I heard a voice cry, "Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep," the innocent sleep.— Shakespeare — Macbeth. Act II. Sc. 2. L. 35.
Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst yesterday. n..— Shakespeare — Othello. Act III. Sc. 3. L. 330.
On your eyelids crown the god of sleep, Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness, Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep As is the difference betwixt day and night The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team Begins his golden progress in the east.— Shakespeare — Henry IV. Pt. I. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 217.
O polish'd perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night! sleep with it now! Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet As he whose brow with homely biggen bound Snores out the watch of night.— Shakespeare — Henry IV. Pt. II. Act IV. Sc. 5. L. 23.
O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness?— Shakespeare — Henry IV. Pt. II. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 4.
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her And be her sense but as a monument.— Shakespeare — Cymbeline. Act II. Sc. 2. L. 31.
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, And look on death itself!— Shakespeare — S. Macbeth. Act II. Sc. 3. L. 81.
Sleep shall neither night nor day Hang upon his pent-house lid.— Shakespeare — Macbeth. Act I. Sc. 3. L. 19.
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast.— Shakespeare — Macbeth. Act II. Sc. 2. L. 36.
и. Sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company. Midsummer-Night's Dream. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 435. This sleep is sound indeed, this is a sleep That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd So many English kings.— Shakespeare — Henry IV. Pt. II. Act IV. Sc. 5. L. 35.
Thou lead them thus, Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep. Midsummer-Night's Dream. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 363. Thy eyes' windows fall, Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; Each part, depriv'd of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death.— Shakespeare — Romeo and Juliet. Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 100.
To sleep, perchance to dream; ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause.— Shakespeare — Hamlet. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 65.
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?— Shakespeare — Henry IV. Pt. II. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 9.
Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep.— Shakespeare — Henry V. Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 296.
And on their lids *** The baby Sleep is pillowed.— SHELLEY — Queen Mab. Pt. I.
Sleep, the fresh dew of languid love, the rain Whose drops quench kisses till they burn again.— SHELLEY — Epipsychidion. L. 571.
Come, Sleep: O Sleep! the certain knot of peace, The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, Th' indifferent judge between the high and low.— SIR PHILIP SIDNEY — Astrophel and Stella. St. 39.
Take thou of me, sweet pillowes, sweetest bed; A chamber deafe of noise, and blind of light, A rosie garland and a weary hed.— SIR PHILIP SIDNEY — Astrophel and Stella. St. 39.
Thou hast been called, O Sleep, the friend of Woe, But 'tis the happy who have called thee so.— SOUTHEY — The Curse of Kehama. Canto XV. St. 12.
For next to Death is Sleepe to be compared; Therefore his house is unto his annext: Here Sleepe, ther Richesse, and hel-gate them both betwext.— SPENSER — Faerie Queene. Bk. II. Canto VII. St. 25.
All gifts but one the jealous God may keep From our soul's longing, one he cannotsleep. This, though he grudge all other grace to prayer, This grace his closed hand cannot choose but spare.— SWINBURNE — Tristram of Lyonesse.
Prelude to Tristram and Iseult. L. 205. She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart, The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart. She sleeps: on either hand upswells The gold fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.— TENNYSON — The Day Dream. The Sleeping Beauty. St. 3.
The mystery Of folded sleep.— TENNYSON — A Dream of Fair Women. St. 66.
When in the down I sink my head, Sleep, Death's twin-brother, times my breath.— TENNYSON — In Memoriam. Pt. LXVIII.
For is there aught in Sleep can charm the wise? To lie in dead oblivion, loosing half The fleeting moments of too short a life- * * * * * * Who would in such a gloomy state remain Longer than Nature craves?— THOMSON — Seasons. Summer. L. 71.
Yet never sleep the sun up. Prayer shou'd Dawn with the day. There are set, awful hours 'Twixt heaven and us. The manna was not good After sun-rising; far day sullies flowres. Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sin glut, And heaven's gate opens when the world's is shut.— HENRY VAUGHAN — Rules and Lessons. St. 2.
Softly, O midnight hours! Move softly o'er the bowers Where lies in happy sleep a girl so fair: For ye have power, men say, Our hearts in sleep to sway And cage cold fancies in a moonlight snare.— AUBREY THOS. DE VERE — Song.
Softly, O Midnight Hours. Deep rest and sweet, most like indeed to death's own quietness.— VIRGIL — Eneid. Bk. VI. L. 522.
Wm. Morris' trans. Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber! Holy angels guard thy bed! S.— WATTS — Cradle Hymn.
'Tis the voice of the sluggard; I hear him complain; "You've waked me too soon, I must slumber again. * * * * * * A little more sleep and a little more slumber."— WATTS — Moral Songs. The Sluggard.
Come, gentle sleep! attend thy votary's prayer, And, though death's image, to my couch repair; How sweet, though lifeless, yet with life to lie, And, without dying, O how sweet to die! b. JOHN WOLCOTT (Peter Pindar)- Epigram on Sleep. And to tired limbs and over-busy thoughts, Inviting sleep and soft forgetfulness. C.— WORDSWORTH — The Excursion. Bk. IV.
Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and nature made a pause.— YOUNG — Night Thoughts. Night I. L. 23.
Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes.— YOUNG — Night Thoughts. Night I. L.I.
Et idem Indignor quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus; Verum opere longo fas est obrepere somnum. I, too, am indignant when the worthy Homer nods; yet in a long work it is allowable for sleep to creep over the writer.— HORACE — Ars Poetica. 358.
Alliciunt somnos tempus motusque merumque. Time, motion and wine cause sleep.— OVID — Fasti. VI. 681.
Tu dors, Brutus, et Rome est dans les fers. Thou sleepest, Brutus, and yet Rome is in chains.— VOLTAIRE — La Mort de César. II. 2.