Hail, happiness, then, and after happiness, hail not those dreams which bloat the sharp image as spotted mirrors do the face in a country-inn parlour; dreams which splinter the whole and tear us asunder and wound us and split us apart in the night when we would sleep; but sleep, sleep, so deep that all shapes are ground to dust of infinite softness, water of dimness inscrutable, and there, folded, shrouded, like a mummy, like a moth, prone let us lie on the sand at the bottom of sleep.

Fatigue is the safest sleeping draught.

The sigh of all the seas breaking in measure round the isles soothed them; the night wrapped them; nothing broke their sleep, until, the birds beginning and the dawn weaving their thin voices in to its whiteness

I sleep among ravishing illusions and wake to their burden.

But one only woke people if one knew what one wanted to say to them. And she wanted to say not one thing, but everything.

Why, he wondered, did people who had been asleep always want to make out that they were extremely wide-awake?