The moon has set,
And the Pleiades.
Midnight.
The hour has gone by.
I sleep alone.

Mad about the boy
I know it's stupid to be mad about the boy
I'm so ashamed of it but must admit the sleepless nights I've had
About the boy

I’m not a helper. I’m not an assistant. I’m not an optional part of the story. Sleeping Giants wouldn’t be what it is today without me.

Minister: I’m going crazy and it’s Modi who is driving me crazy. He doesn’t get bribed nor allows anyone else to. He doesn’t sleep and doesn’t let others too.

I did it! Oh, I'm a doc, a happy sneezy doc! (Yawns) Ooh, I'm a sleepy happy sneezy doc. If I don't get to bed, I'll be a grumpy dopey sleepy happy sneezy doc. (Pause) Bashful.

Minister: I’m going crazy and it’s Modi who is driving me crazy. He doesn’t get bribed nor allows anyone else to. He doesn’t sleep and doesn’t let others too.

The repose of sleep refreshes only the body. It rarely sets the soul at rest. The repose of the night does not belong to us. It is not the possession of our being. Sleep opens within us an inn for phantoms. In the morning we must sweep out the shadows.

Only while sleeping one makes no mistakes. Making mistakes is the privilege of the active—of those who can correct their mistakes and put them right.

There is plenty of time to sleep in the grave.

Put the dwarf within you to sleep.