Those who have compared our life to a dream were right… we were sleeping wake, and waking sleep.
My first two books are out of print and, okay, they can sleep there comfortably. It’s early work, derivative work.
There was never a child so lovely but his mother was glad to get him to sleep.
Silence is the sleep that nourishes wisdom.
The repose of sleep refreshes only the body. It rarely sets the soul at rest. The repose of the night does not belong to us. It is not the possession of our being. Sleep opens within us an inn for phantoms. In the morning we must sweep out the shadows.
Death is the veil which those who live call life; They sleep, and it is lifted.