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fb7a294 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 place. It's a place where a little harmless dreaming and then some sleepy, early-morning talk has led me into considerations of death and annihilation. sleep death life insomnia place dreaming lost Raymond Carver
87c6193 It was that sort of sleep in which you wake every hour and think to yourself that you have not been sleeping at all; you can remember dreams that are like reflections, daytime thinking slightly warped. sleep sadness insomnia restlessness Kim Stanley Robinson
9ff1961 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 of conspiracy theorist as well, believing too much in its own paranoiac importance--as though if it were to blink, then doze, the world might be overrun by some encroaching calamity, which its obsessive musings are somehow fending off. sleep tourette-s insomnia Jonathan Lethem
089d7b5 Waking up was a daily cruelty, an affront, and she avoided it by not sleeping. immortality death insomnia Gregory Maguire
6c09794 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. Longfellow liked the month of September. Shelley flourished in the hot months. Some poets, like Wordsworth, have gone outdoors to work. Others, like Auden, keep to the curtained room. Schiller needed the smell of rotten apples about him to make a poem. Tennyson and Walter de la Mare had to smoke. Auden drinks lots of tea, Spender coffee; Hart Crane drank alcohol. Pope, Byron, and William Morris were creative late at night. And so it goes. seasons winter poets poetry writing apple april auden byron de-la-mare insomnia longfellow may morris nocturnal season september shelley spender tennyson pope apples coffee spring wordsworth milton fall hart-crane autumn tea keats night writers burns schiller Helen Bevington
cdf7aeb 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 the two he has. sleep pnin wrist left-handed vladimir-nabokov insomnia left insomniac Vladimir Nabokov
57718d2 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'. sleep thoughts drinking binging empty-your-head ignoring playing-hard-to-get stop-thinking talking-to-yourself voices-inside-your-head thinking-process the-mind self-assurance murphy-s-law mantra insomnia sleeping alone cat ignorance thinking cats alcoholic lonely Gillian Flynn
091c699 For there is nothing quite so terror-inducing as the loss of sleep. It creates phantoms and doubts, causes one to questions one's own abilities and judgement, and, over time, dismantles, from within, the body. sleep sleepless sleeplessness insomnia terror Charlie Huston
be1fc82 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 occurs and is most likely why each day's pattern of distress exhibits fairly predictable alternating periods of intensity and relief. depression insomnia rhythm intensity health depressed relief mental-illness psychology mental-health William Styron
866e400 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 assert themselves against tyrannous memories. depression inertia insomnia inaction George Eliot
803e9f8 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 tenuous, indeed almost non-existent soil spread over a pit full of shadows, whence the powers of darkness emerge at will to destroy my life... darkness insomnia destruction Franz Kafka
820e57b What delicious abandon in the sleep of the child. Where do we lose it? faith insomnia maturation worry Frank Herbert
9d1e581 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 both the beauty and unique nature of her storytelling. With brilliance and courage, the author's brave and candid chronicle travels where no other memoir about mental illness and addiction has gone before. The Third Sunrise is an incredible triumph and Natalie Jeanne Champagne is without a doubt the most important new voice in this genre. blog depression writing blogger insomnia memoir bipolar-disorder recovery mental-health interview Andy Behrman