Miguel de Cervantes Quotes

Blessed be he who invented sleep, a cloak that covers all a man's thoughts.

Blessings on him, who invented sleep.

Come Sleep! Oh Sleep, the certain knot of peace, the baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, the poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, the indifferent judge between the high and low.

I'm usually alone or asleep, at home.

For sleep, one needs endless depths of blackness to sink into; daylight is too shallow, it will not cover one.

I have no trouble sleeping.

In the laughing times we know that we are lucky, and in the quiet times we know that we are blessed. And we will not be alone.

I went to bed and slept the sleep of the saved and thankful.

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

Blessed be his name, who hath appointed the quiet night to follow the busy day, and the calm sleep to refresh the wearied limbs and to compose the troubled spirit.

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

Truly, hope is the saint's covering, wherein he wraps himself, when he lays his body down to sleep in the grave: "My flesh," saith David, "shall rest in hope."

Always the idea of unbroken quiet broods around the grave. It is a port where the storms of life never beat, and the forms that have been tossed on its chafing waves lie quiet forevermore. There the child nestles as peacefully as ever it lay in its mother's arms, and the workman's hands lie still by his side, and the thinker's brain is pillowed in silent mystery, and the poor girl's broken heart is steeped in a balm that extracts its secret woe, and is in the keeping of a charity that covers all blame.

Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed! Heavenly blessing without number Gently falling on thy head.

What hath night to do with sleep?

I said some words to the close and holy darkness and then I slept.

Good night, belovedest. Your sleep will be sweet if there is any influences in the wishes of your own.

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.

Sleep, rest of nature, O sleep, most gentle of the divinities, peace of the soul, thou at whose presence care disappears, who soothest hearts wearied with daily employments, and makest them strong again for labour!

Silence, nothing is better.

Thou hadst, for weary feet, the gift of rest.