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.

When the black thing was at its worst, when the illicit cocktails and the ten-mile runs stopped working, I would feel numb as if dead to the world. I moved unconsciously, with heavy limbs, like...

I had a dream about you. I was a sleeping bag salesman, and you sold insomnia. I tried talking you into selling sex instead, because that way we could sell combo packages. But you said...

I’ve crossed some kind of invisible line. I feel as if I’ve come to a place I never thought I’d have to come to. And I don’t know how I got here. It’s a strange...

I’ve always envied people who sleep easily. Their brains must be cleaner, the floorboards of the skull well swept, all the little monsters closed up in a steamer trunk at the foot of the bed.

Somewhere in the night ahuman being is drowning.

A disruption of the circadian cycle—the metabolic and glandular rhythms that are central to our workaday life—seems to be involved in many, if not most, cases of depression; this is why brutal insomnia so often...