William Shakespeare Quotes

Sleeping and being asleep is one of my favorite activities. Really, what I wanted to do is provide a landscape or a musical place where people could fall asleep.

She had had sweet dreams, which possibly arose from the fact that her little bed was very white.

Under the snowdrifts the blossoms are sleeping, Dreaming their dreams of sunshine and June, Down in the hush of their quiet they're keeping Trills from the throstle's wild summer-sung tune.

There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.

...and then, in dreaming, / The clouds methought would open and show riches / Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked / I cried to dream again.

Up the road, in his shack, the old man was sleeping again. He was still sleeping on his face and the boy was sitting by him watching him. The old man was dreaming about the lions.

There,” she said softly. “Now he could be sleeping.

Sleep would be so welcome. A warm blanket of black to erase everything else. Sleep without dreams.

Sweet sleep fell upon his eyelids, unwakeful, most pleasant, the nearest like death.

And so when Mrs. Darling went back to the night-nursery to see if her husband was asleep, all the beds were occupied. The children waited for her cry of joy, but it did not come. She saw them, but she did not believe they were there. You see, she saw them in their beds so often in her dreams that she thought this was just the dream hanging around her still.

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.

all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep noone and anyone earth by april wish by spirit and if by yes

In the corridors under tehre is nothing but sleep. And stiller than ever on orchard boughs they keep Tryst with the moon, and deep is the silence, deep On moon-washed apples of wonder.

I'm just a little bit tired If you know what I mean Don't want to be in a crowd When I can be in a dream.

Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both.

Let me be something every minute of every hour of my life...And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost.

If we can sleep without dreaming, it is well that painful dreams are avoided. If, while we sleep, we can have any pleasing dreams, it is as the French say, tant gagne, so much added to the pleasure of life.

A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down, but I wish you to know that you inspired it.

That a day spent with dreaming and sunsets and refreshing breezes cannot be bettered.

FIRST WATCHER Why do people die? SECOND WATCHER Perhaps because they don't dream enough.

All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.

Seek out some retired and old-world spot, far from the madding crowd, and dream away a sunny week among its drowsy lanes - some half-forgotten nook, hidden away by the fairies, out of reach of the noisy world - some quaint-perched eyrie on the cliffs of Time, from whence the surging waves of the nineteenth century would sound far-off and faint.

Sweet are the little brooks that run O'er pebbles glancing in the sun, Singing in soothing tones.