There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep.
Being eaten by a crocodile is just like going to sleep...in a giant blender.
Even were sleep is concerned, too much is a bad thing.
Men grow tired of sleep, love, singing and dancing sooner than of war.
A councilor ought not to sleep the whole night through, a man to whom the populace is entrusted, and who has many responsibilities.
Sleep, delicious and profound, the very counterfeit of death
These nights are endless, and a man can sleep through them, or he can enjoy listening to stories, and you have no need to go to bed before it is time. Too much sleep is only a bore. And of the others, any one whose heart and spirit urge him can go outside and sleep, and then, when the dawn shows, breakfast first, then go out to tend the swine of our master. But we two, sitting here in the shelter, eating and drinking, shall entertain each other remembering and retelling our sad sorrows. For afterwards a man who has suffered much and wandered much has pleasure out of his sorrows.
There is a fullness of all things, even of sleep and love.
Sleep and Death, who are twin brothers.
There is satiety in all things, in sleep, and love-making, in the loveliness of singing and the innocent dance.
Sweet sleep fell upon his eyelids, unwakeful, most pleasant, the nearest like death.
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