Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie;
But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.
He that sleeps feels not the tooth-ache.
Methought I heard a voice cry, "Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep!"- the innocent sleep.
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.
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her and be her sense but as a monument, thus in a chapel lying.
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, and look on death itself.
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.
Sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, steal me awhile from mine own company.
Science, like art, religion, commerce, warfare, and even sleep, is based on presuppositions.
Honestly, I don't care what we do. I just want to stay wrapped around him for as long as possible, fighting sleep and forgetting about the rest of the world.
—Karen M. McManus in One of Us Is Lying
Nice guys finish last, but we get to sleep in.