Lucretius Quotes

Sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care.

Sweet shall be your rest if your heart does not reproach you.

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: 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.

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.

Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes, brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose.

Sleep is your friend. Dreams are your unwelcome guests.

Humbling was a nice word, Rahel thought. Humbling along without a care in the world

I don't let myself get worn out. I always listen to my body and take care of it if I'm run-down.

Rest, brother, rest. Have you done ill or well Rest, rest, There is no God, no gods who dwell Crowned with avenging righteousness on high Nor frowning ministers of their hate in hell.

No well-planned retirement should be without long term care insurance. It is the very cornerstone of retirement security.

Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest; Home-keeping hearts are the happiest, For those that wander they know not where Are full of trouble and full of care; To stay at home is best.

Sleeping. Turning in turn like planets rotating in their midnight meadow: a touch is enough to let us know we're not alone in the universe, even in sleep.

And when thou art weary I'll find thee a bed, Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head.

Later on in life, you expect a bit of rest, don't you? You think you deserve it. I did, anyway. But then you begin to understand that the reward of merit is not life's business.

She is happy where she lies With the dust upon her eyes.

She transforms once again into someone carefree, and I transform into someone whose only care is her.

No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won't hurt

My wife, my Mary, goes to her sleep the way you would close the door of a closet. So many times I have watched her with envy. Her lovely body squirms a moment as though she fitted herself into a cocoon. She sighs once and at the end of it her eyes close and her lips, untroubled, fall into that wise and remote smile of the Ancient Greek gods. She smiles all night in her sleep, her breath purrs in her throat, not a snore, a kitten's purr... She loves to sleep and sleep welcomes her.

In the midst of depressing care and labor I turn constantly to divine Love for guidance, and find rest.

Sleep ... peace of the soul, who puttest care to flight.

Tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age, Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburdened crawl toward death.

To have noughtIs to have all things without care or thought!

Come in, dear wind, and be our guest You too have neither home nor rest.

...it gives you the impression that every day is Sunday.