O fool, what else is sleep but chill death's likeness?
To wish is of little account; to succeed you must earnestly desire; and this desire must shorten thy sleep.
Time, motion and wine cause sleep.
Sleep, rest of things, O pleasing Deity, Peace of the soul, which cares dost crucify, Weary bodies refresh and mollify.
Sleep ... peace of the soul, who puttest care to flight.
Sleep, nature's rest, divine tranquility, That brings peace to the mind.
Thou fool, what is sleep but the image of death? Fate will give an eternal rest. [Lat., Stulte, quid est somnus, gelidae nisi mortis imago? Longa quiescendi tempora fata dabunt.]
Sleep, thou repose of all things; sleep, thou gentlest of the deities; thou peace of the mind, from which care flies; who doest soothe the hearts of men wearied with the toils of the day, and refittest them for labor.
What is it that love does to a woman? Without she only sleeps with it alone, she lives.
