Letitia Elizabeth Landon Quotes

It is a delicious moment, certainly, that of being well nestled in bed, and feeling that you shall drop gently to sleep. The good is to come, not past; the limbs have just been tired enough to render the remaining in one posture delightful; the labour of the day is gone

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

Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace;Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,While the stars burn, the moons increase,And the great ages onward roll. Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet. Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feet;Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.

I am in need of music that would flow Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips, Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips, With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow. Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low, Of some song sung to rest the tired dead, A song to fall like water on my head, And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow! There is a magic made by melody: A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep To the subaqueous stillness of the sea, And floats forever in a moon-green pool, Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives, When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives, Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain, But never will be sung to us again, Is they remembrance. Now the hour of rest Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling: it is best.

Let's contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep: All be as before Love, - Only sleep.

Sleep, Silence's child, sweet father of soft rest, Prince whose approach peace to all mortals brings Indifferent host to shepherds and kings Sole comforter to minds with grief oppressed.

Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes, and when again they open, the sun will rise.

Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber.

And then there stole into my fancy, like a rich musical note, the thought of what sweet rest there must be in the grave.

All sense of hearing and of sight enfold in the serene delight and quietude of sleep.

Happiness consists in getting enough sleep. Just that, nothing more.

How sweet and sacred idleness is!

The sleep of a laboring man is sweet.

In all things rest is sweet; there is sur feit even in honey, even in Aphrodite s lovely flowers.

As I drifted off to sleep, I could hear him breathing, and that definitely helped me relax.

The name of peace is sweet, the thing itself is most salutary.

the tea-hour is the hour of peace ... strife is lost in the hissing of the kettle - a tranquilizing sound, second only to the purring of a cat.

Over all the mountain tops is peace. In all treetops you perceive scarcely a breath. The little birds in the forest are silent. Wait then; soon, you too, will have peace.

Sleep just a while longer, that's it, where else can you go where you neither suffer nor cause suffering.

The late afternoon sunlight, warm as oil, sweet as childhood.

How undisturbed, the sleep of the foolish.

He sleeps well who knows not that he sleeps ill.

Sleep, thou repose of all things; sleep, thou gentlest of the deities; thou peace of the mind, from which care flies; who doest soothe the hearts of men wearied with the toils of the day, and refittest them for labor.