Sleep (n.) comes when the eyelids shut the inner fire in, so it spreads out and smooths our inner motions into quiet.
Sleep (n.) beyond what health demands is borrowed from death: a sleeping man is useless, and might as well not be alive.
Sleep (n.) rightly prepared — reason feasted, appetite neither starved nor glutted, anger soothed — is when a person best grasps the truth and dreams least lawlessly.
Sleep (n.) is what a city wants back after being stung: swat the gadfly, and you may doze on for the rest of your days.
Sleep (n.) and waking split our lives in half, and in each half the soul insists, with equal conviction, that what it now believes is preeminently true.