It's at night, when perhaps we should be dreaming, that the mind is most clear, that we are most able to hold all our life in the palm of our skull. I don't know if anyone has ever pointed out that great attraction of insomnia before, but it is so; the night seems to release a little more of our vast backward inheritance of instincts and feelings; as with the dawn, a little honey is allowed to ooze between the lips of the sandwich, a little of the stuff of dreams to drip into the waking mind. I wish I believed, as J. B. Priestley did, that consciousness continues after disembodiment or death, not forever, but for a long while. Three score years and ten is such a stingy ration of time, when there is so much time around. Perhaps that's why some of us are insomniacs; night is so precious that it would be pusillanimous to sleep all through it! A bad night is not always a bad thing.
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With insomnia, you're never really asleep; you're never really awake.
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It is snowing and death bugs me as stubborn as insomnia....
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Last night I dreamed I had insomnia. I woke up exhausted, yet too well rested to go back to sleep.
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If a man had as many ideas during the day as he does when he has insomnia, he would make a fortune.
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