#insomnia

It's a rare book that wins the battle against drooping eyelids. ↗

— Tracy Chevalier

#drowsiness #insomnia #reading #sleepy #winning

Insomnia is a gross feeder. It will nourish itself on any kind of thinking, including thinking about not thinking. ↗

— Clifton Fadiman

#any #gross #including #insomnia #itself

His insomnia was so bad, he couldn't sleep during office hours. ↗

— Arthur Baer

#during #his #hours #insomnia #office

In its early stages, insomnia is almost an oasis in which those who have to think or suffer darkly take refuge. ↗

— Sidonie Gabrielle Colette

#early #early stages #insomnia #oasis #refuge

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. ↗

— Andy Behrman

#bipolar-disorder #blog #blogger #depression #insomnia

I know my music is going well when I don't have insomnia. ↗

— Carly Rae Jepsen

#i #insomnia #know #music #well

Cats are rather delicate creatures and they are subject to a good many different ailments, but I have never heard of one who suffered from insomnia. ↗

— Joseph Wood Krutch

#ailments #cats #creatures #delicate #different

I prefer insomnia to anaesthesia. ↗

— Antonio Tabucchi

#insomnia #prefer

A Remedy for Insomnia Not sheep coming down the hills, not cracks pn the ceiling-- count the ones you loved, the former tenants of dreams who would keep you awake, once meant the world to you, rocked you in their arms, those who loved you... You will fall asleep, by dawn, in tears. ↗

— Vera Pavlova

#dreams

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, the teak-carved bird -- a souvenir from what place? A memory almost rises when our eyes rest on a painting's grey sweep of cloud, or the curve of a wooden leg in a corner. Fingertips faintly recall the raised pattern on a chair cushion, but we wonder how these things have come to be here, in this stranger's home. Lost women drift in places where time has collapsed. We look into our thoughts and hearts for what has been forgotten, for what has gone missing. What did we once care about? Whom did we love? We are emptied. We are remote. Like night lilies, we open in the dark, breathe in the shadowy world. Our soliloquies are heard by no one. ↗

— Cathy Ostlere

#loss #night #women #love