That we are not much sicker and much madder than we are is due exclusively to that most blessed and blessing of all natural graces, sleep.
Sleep is the most blessed and blessing of all natural graces.
I'm pretty good at inventing phrases - you know, the sort of words that suddenly make you jump, almost as though you'd sat on a pin, they seem so new and exciting even though they're about something hypnopaedically* obvious. But that doesn't seem enough. It's not enough for the phrases to be good; what you make with them ought to be good too.
If Men and Women took their Pleasures as noisily as the Cats, what Londoner could ever hope to sleep of nights?