When I am traveling in a carriage, or walking after a good meal, or during the night when I cannot sleep; it is on such occasions that ideas flow best and most abundantly.
Weren’t we all crazy in our sleep? What was sleep, after all, but the process by which we dumped our insanity into a dark subconscious pit and came out on the other side ready to eat cereal instead of our neighbor’s children?
When I die, I don’t want to go to heaven or hell. I want to stay on earth and haunt people. Turn the lights on in the kitchen when you thought you’ve turned them off. Hide under the bed and grab your leg when it dangles off while you’re sleeping. Sit in the backseat and show up in your rear-view mirror when you’re driving alone at night. Being a ghost sounds like a lot of fun!
The Dark Tower is the Fermat’s Last Theorem of film adaptations. At least that’s what I whisper into my pillow when I cry myself to sleep.
This is what ruling is; lying on a bed of weeds, ripping them out by the root, one by one, before they strangle you in your sleep!
Guys would sleep with a bicycle if it had the right color lip gloss on. They have no shame. They’re like bull elks in a field.
Denial gives way to acceptance; acceptance breeds dependence. Anyone who’s ever cared for a terminal patient will tell you that, too. Sick people need someone who will bring them their pills and glasses of cold sweet juice to wash them down with. They need someone to soothe their aching joints with arnica gel. They need someone to sit with them when the night is dark and the hours stretch out. They need someone to say, Sleep now, it will be better in the morning. I’m here, so sleep. Sleep now. Sleep and let me take care of everything.
When I was a kid I believed everything I was told, everything I read, and every dispatch sent out by my own overheated imagination. This made for more than a few sleepless nights, but it also filled the world I lived in with colors and textures I would not have traded for a lifetime of restful nights.