We fear death, yet we long for slumber and beautiful dreams.
Hence, in these times, untouch'd the pages lie, And slumber out their immortality.
That's definitely true! It was before my father died, so I can't attribute it to an obsession with death. When I was seven, I loved those old Sherlock Holmes movies with Basil Rathbone. The Scarlet Claw was one of my faves. And I loved all the Halloween's and that film about the haunted house. . . Burnt Offerings, with Oliver Reed. Every birthday party was a slumber party and we'd watch horror films.
It is not the slumber of reason that engenders monsters, but vigilant and insomniac rationality
His eyes never slumber, and His hands never rest; His heart never ceases to beat with love, and His shoulders are never weary of carrying His people's burdens.
A thought once awakened does not again slumber.
The older you get, the few slumber parties there are, and I hate that. I liked slumber parties. What happened to them?
Novels so often provide an anodyne and not an antidote, glide one into torpid slumbers instead of rousing one with a burning brand.
In the deepest slumber-no! In delirium-no! In a swoon-no! In death-no! even in the grave all is not lost.
Tis the voice of the sluggard I heard him complain,You have wak'd me too soon, I must slumber again.
There can be no doubt that distrust of words is less harmful than unwarranted trust in them. Besides, to distrust words, and indict them for the horrors that might slumber unobtrusively within them - isn’t this, after all, the true vocation of the intellectual?
Now conscience wakes despair That slumber'd,-wakes the bitter memory Of what he was, what is, and what must be Worse.
The oppressed must never allow the conscience of the oppressor to slumber. Religion reminds every man that he is his brother's keeper.
One slumber finds another.
Your love in a cottage is hungry, Your vine is a nest for flies- Your milkmaid shocks the Graces, And simplicity talks of pies! You lie down to your shady slumber And wake with a bug in your ear, And your damsel that walks in the morning Is shod like a mountaineer.
I sat down and tried to rest. I could not; though I had been on foot all day, I could not now repose an instant; I was too much excited. A phase of my life was closing tonight, a new one opening tomorrow: impossible to slumber in the interval; I must watch feverishly while the change was being accomplished.
. . . More than almost any current book, DTU will wake the reader from his dogmatic slumbers. It is eminently readable, challenging, and provocative.
Beside the brook and on the umbered meadow, Where yellow fern-tufts fleck the faded ground, With folded lids beneath their palmy shadow The gentian nods in dewy slumbers bound.
O sleep! O gentle sleep! Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?
The numbers of men in all ages have preferred ease, slumber, and good cheer to liberty, when they have been in competition.
