Words become sentences, twisted, difficult/The story weaves itself, always noisiest at night/As herds of words won’t stop. . . “Wildebeest of Words/Breathe In

That’s the advantage of insomnia. People who go to be early always complain that the night is too short, but for those of us who stay up all night, it can feel as long as...

Impossible to spend sleepless nights and accomplish anything: if, in my youth, my parents had not financed my insomnias, I should surely have killed myself.

Right now I can’t even control my own imagination as it grips my hair and drags me into the dark

During last night’s insomnia, as these thoughts came and went between my aching temples, I realised once again, what I had almost forgotten in this recent period of relative calm, that I tread a terribly...

Those who wake at this hour feel a lonely separation from everyone but night birds and ghost crabs, never imagining the legion of kindred souls scattered in the darkness, who stare at ceilings and pace...

Sleep is like a cat: It only comes to you if you ignore it. I drank more and continued my mantra. ‘Stop thinking’, swig, ’empty your head’, swig, ‘now, seriously empty your head’.

As an artist suffering from insomnia and working from my apartment, I had an artistic freedom to explore and create awesome stuff. I wore a robe and slippers as my work dress code. These are...

Like Sylvia Plath, Natalie Jeanne Champagne invites you so close to the pain and agony of her life of mental illness and addiction, which leaves you gasping from shock and laughing moments later: this is...

I’m awake and I can’t sleep. The more I’m awake, the more I see, and the harder to sleep.

That gap between half sleep and half awakening has always been occupied by nostalgia.

As I write by phonics, like insomnia I will always live the onyx night for revealing, and, upon it, still I’ll steal the light of day away to keep building at speeds hypersonic.

InsomniaI cannot get to sleep tonight.I toss and turn and flop.I try to count some fluffy sheepwhile o’er a fence they hop.I try to think of pleasant dreamsof places really cool.I don’t know why I...

I’ve got a bad case of the 3:00 am guilts – you know, when you lie in bed awake and replay all those things you didn’t do right? Because, as we all know, nothing solves...

Poor sleepers should endeavor to compose themselves. Tampering with empty space, stirring up echoes in pitch-black pits of darkness is scarcely sedative.(“Out Of The Deep”)

Here, from her ashes you lay. A broken girl so lost in despondency that you know that even if she does find her way out of this labyrinth in hell, that she will never see,...

His impatience for sleep often frightened that very sleep away.

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...

In the absence of sleep, my restless nights have been fueled by my overactive imagination, weaving waking dreams onto the canvas of conception. Filling my head with lots of ideas waiting to be born into...

I’m so exhausted and yet I feel like I’ll never sleep again.

Then Night came down like the feathery soot of a smoky lamp, and smutted[9] first the bedquilt, then the hearth-rug, then the window-seat, and then at last the great, stormy, faraway outside world. But sleep...

Lord, grant us rest tonight, and if we must be wakeful, cheerful.

Alone with thoughts of what should have long been forgotten, I let myself be carried away into the silent screams of delirium.

Some thoughts are too angry to sleep. They lie awake all night and become obsessions.

All my life I have been a poor go-to-sleeper. No matter how great my weariness, the wrench of parting with consciousness is unspeakably repulsive to me. I loathe Somnus, that black-masked headsman binding me to...

From the tattered edges of an exhausted mind, inspiration blooms… mental filters disintegrate and walls crumble, as the ocean of creativity washes over everything.

When the world is itself draped in the mantle of night, the mirror of the mind is like the sky in which thoughts twinkle like stars.

It was impossible to sleep. Anxiety stopped me from falling asleep; depression woke me up.

Pack up all my care and woe, blackbird, bye-bye

When I can’t sleep I count the buckles on my straightjacket.

Insomnia is a variant of Tourette’s–the waking brain races, sampling the world after the world has turned away, touching it everywhere, refusing to settle, to join the collective nod. The insomniac brain is a sort...

I knew this feeling, the 2 a.m. loneliness that I’d practically invented.

I thought calming thoughts and visualized serene places. Eventually, i found myself drifting along the frenetic edges of my mind. The Sandman was nowhere to be found, as i slipped further away from sleep.

I am strongly of the opinion that, after the age of twenty-one, a man ought not to be out of bed and awake at four in the morning. The hour breeds thought. At twenty-one, life...

Insomniacs should not be forced to exist in a realm with reflective glass. From the first look I’m boxed in a prism, rainbows charming the other dark-circled self into sharing my prison. One eye turns...

It is at night when sleep like the outgoing sea leaves you dry and cold and the morning light arrives like a small punishment.

Legend says that when you can’t sleep at night it’s because you’re awake in someone else’s dream

Women can go mad with insomnia.The sleep-deprived roam houses that have lost their familiarity. With tea mugs in hand, we wander rooms, looking on shelves for something we will recognize: a book title, a photograph,...

[…] I’d wake up in the middle of the night to the Star-Spangled Banner and some old film of a flag blowing in the wind, telling you the day was over and it was long...

Speech, tennis, music, skiing, manners, love- you try them waking and perhaps balk at the jump, and then you’re over. You’ve caught the rhythm of them once and for all, in your sleep at night....

The seasonal urge is strong in poets. Milton wrote chiefly in winter. Keats looked for spring to wake him up (as it did in the miraculous months of April and May, 1819). Burns chose autumn....

I fix the cramped, lined pageswith my curious stare. How do youcome to exist?

I think insomnia is a sign that a person is interesting.

Why can I never go back to bed? Who’s is the voice ringing in my head? Where is the sense in these desperate dreams? Why should I wake when I’m half past dead?

Of all the things which make up our Short-Time lives, sleep is surely the best.

Insomnia is a gross feeder. It will nourish itself on any kind of thinking, including thinking about not thinking.

unkindness �of ravens”?

That night I slept badly, thrashing about in my bed, not quite asleep and not quite awake. At times I had the feeling there was someone else in my bedroom who was talking to me,...

In bed our yesterdays are too oppressive: if a man can only get up, though it be but to whistle or to smoke, he has a present which offers some resistance to the past—sensations which...

The monsters were neverunder my bed.Because the monsterswere inside my head.I fear no monsters,for no monsters I see.Because all this timethe monster has been me.