Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Wakefulness. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Wakefulness Quotes And Sayings by 89 Authors including Plotinus,Justin Isis,Milan Kundera,Neville Goddard,Henry Reed for you to enjoy and share.
We must close our eyes and invoke a new manner of seeing ... a wakefulness that is the birthright of us all, though few put it to use.
Mark Samuels reached a hand into the darkness to silence the shrilling of his mobile phone alarm and felt his reflexes pull him awake sharply, with no consideration for the vestiges of his disordered dreams.
Waking up was sheer delight for him: he always showed a naive and simple amazement at the discovery that he was back on earth; he was sincerely pleased. She, on the other hand, awoke with great reluctance, with a desire to stave off the day by keeping her eyes closed.
Sleep conceals the creative act while the objective world reveals it. In sleep man impresses the subconscious with his conception of himself.
As we abide in sleep, intuitively resonating with the sum of all our experiences - this life and beyond - we gain refreshing perspective on our efforts and have an opportunity to remember what we know.
The fascination of sleep, which pits the lure of the void against the obstinacy of an impotent will, is an obstacle that life has perhaps never surmounted.
Sleep seems to hammer out for me the logical conclusions of my vague days, and offer them to me as dreams.
I awake. I don't mean to but clearly I have not appeased the Sleep Gods with enough offerings.
Awake asleep ought to be with us - So he may see dreams in wakefulness.
What hath the night to do with sleep?
Nothing more exhilarating ... than saving yourself by the simple act of waking.
I cannot be awake, for nothing looks to me as it did before, or else I am awake for the first time, and all before has been a mean sleep.
You are asleep. Deep, deep asleep - and then the world caves in. The cat has leapt from the top window onto your stomach. He is saturated. He is hungry. He taps you into full wakefulness with a sodden paw "Could you open a can?"
... we whose task is wakefulness itself have inherited all the strength which has been cultivated by the struggle against this error.
The beauty of sleep is the way the world around you disappears.
For the wakeful one whose mind is quiet, whose thoughts are undisturbed, who has relinquished judgement and blame, there is no fear.
Sleep was a vehicle for passing the time, for avoiding the present. It was a trolley for the depressed, the impatient, and the dying.
Sleep, delicious and profound, the very counterfeit of death
Waking up from a deep, healing sleep reminds me of rushing toward the surface of a lake, brightness beckoning from above and bubbles fizzing all around me. Consciousness
It is a poor reverie which invites a nap. One must even wonder whether, in this "failing asleep", the subconscious itself does not undergo a decline in being.
The wakefulness was always there beside me. I could feel its chilling shadow. It was the shadow of myself. Weird, I would think as the drowsiness overtook me, I'm in my own shadow. I would walk and eat and talk to people inside my drowsiness.
Wake up to think of words ... want to walk through pages of meanings, the links in assonance, alliteration, or just simple sense that moves the eye to leap that way to the next-door play of sound and resonance.
How undisturbed, the sleep of the foolish.
How hard is it, when everything encourages us to sleep, though we may look about us with conscious, clinging eyes, to wake and yet look about us as in a dream, with eyes that no longer know their function and whose gaze is turned inward.
Wake the sleeper must, and confront his fears, or risk being lost in the dark places of the mind forever.
The secret is to be awake. To be awake is everything.
In the dead of night I stirred. Wakefulness flowed back into me. I was a cup full of sorrow, but that sorrow was stilled, like a pain that abates as long as one does not move.
Sometimes one awakes with the knowledge that unrecallable dreams have been lining your sleep, and though you feel rested, it is the rest of one who has lived for hours in an alternate world, another realm.
While we are asleep in this world, we are awake in another one
Of all the seasons, winter is the most conducive to the great art of dormancy. This art requires an appreciation of semi-consciousness: the beautiful and necessary prelude to sleep - a special pleasure in itself that is all too often neglected, under-valued or looked down upon.
You wake up and for those few seconds, minutes, you forget; forget you are injured; forget you are finished.
Men have conceived a twofold use of sleep; it is a refreshing of the body in this life, and a preparing of the soul for the next.
i am awake only in what i love & desire to the point of terror -- everything else is just shrouded furniture, quotidian anaesthesia, shit-for-brains, sub-reptilian ennui of totalitarian regimes, banal censorship & useless pain ...
What hath night to do with sleep?
If the truth is inside,
And the form is outside,
What is the truth of sleep?
Daytime sleep is a cursed slumber from which one wakes in despair.
Sleep is my lover now, my forgetting, my opiate, my oblivion.
To be awake is everything.
When we are rested, we notice desires as well as lies buried in our souls.
Before your awake, all you do is see
When your awake, all you do is feel.
The sleep which lay heavy upon the furniture, the room, the whole surroundings of which I formed but an insignificant pat and whose unconsciousness I should very soon return to share.
Don't let sleep overtake you; the world's awake within you.
What is this sleep which holds you now?
You are lost in the dark and cannot hear me.
Sleep, rest of nature, O sleep, most gentle of the divinities, peace of the soul, thou at whose presence care disappears, who soothest hearts wearied with daily employments, and makest them strong again for labour!
The ocean sleeps. The ocean wakes. And the waking of the ocean is the waking of the soul. At midnight wakefulness springs from within the ocean.
Silence is the sleep that nourishes wisdom.
Becoming "awake" involves seeing our confusion more clearly.
The mind is in a sad state when Sleep, the all-involving, cannot confine her spectres within the dim region of her sway, but suffers them to break forth, affrighting this actual life with secrets that perchance belong to a deeper one.
In our lonely hours we awake those sleeping images with which our memories are stored, and vitalize them again.
The body sleeps, the heart sleeps, the mind sleeps - but you remain alert because you are nothing else but alertness. Everything else is a false identification. Awareness is your nature. The body is your abode. The mind is your computer. Awareness;s you, is your very being.
Sleep is the gateway to those nightly visitations of the irrational.
With 70,000 thoughts a day and 95% of our activity controlled by the subconscious mind, no wonder that it feels as though we are asleep most of the time. To awake, we need to train Self-Remembering and Mindfulness.
Awake, dear heart, awake. Thou hast slept well. Awake.
Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears and tortures, and the touch of joy.
But the state of sleep, we found, is not characterized by the disintegration of psychical interconnections, but by the focus on the wish to sleep by the psychical system in control of the day.
Daytime sleep is like the sin of the flesh; the more you have the more you want, and yet you feel unhappy, sated and unsated at the same time.
Dreams have a profound way of waking us up.
Sleep, elusive as a ghost, plaintive as a widow, and as easy to hold as the wind.
Active imagination requires a state of reverie, half-way between sleep and waking.
Sleep is a kind of peace, and I have not yet earned peace.
Awakening is usually precipitated by the honest, sincere, inquiry into who you really are.
When sleep enters the body like smoke
and man journeys into the abyss
like an extinguished star that is lighted elsewhere,
then all quarrel ceases,
overworked nag that has tossed the nightmare grip
of its rider.
Sleep is a patch of death, but three in the morn, full wide-eyed staring, is living death! You dream with your eyes open. God, if you had the strength to rouse up, you'd slaughter your half-dreams with a buckshot! But no, you lie pinned to a deep well-bottom that's burned dry.
Perpetual wakefulness doesn't mean you have all physical knowledge, that you can speak all languages, that you can fix cars ... that is a storybook, Hollywood version of the enlightenment experience.
Sleep is the best cure for waking troubles.
Dreams are the royal road to the unconscious.
A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching!
Sleep, rest of things, O pleasing Deity, Peace of the soul, which cares dost crucify, Weary bodies refresh and mollify.
I had forgotten what sleep is like - a kingdom all its own.
Twin terrors: to be awake; to be asleep.
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.
Sleep is over rated, then again so is being awake.
Each soul must awaken from the aloneness of a private dream world to greet the morning sun, view the sweet earth, apprehend the great silence, and demonstrate an appreciative thanks to everyday of life by living in a rapt state of attentive awareness.
When sorrow ceases to be speculative sleep sees her opportunity.
Sleep calls to me from a land of foreign dignitaries I know not by name as I visit rarely often. The ticket in my hand, only word: "Darkness
Wakefulness is the only saintliness there is, and sleepiness, unconsciousness, is the only sin there is; all other sins are born out of it. Cut the root, cut the very root! Don't go on pruning the leaves.
The morning's recollection of the emptiness of the day before. Its anticipation of the emptiness of the day to come.
Sleep tries to seduce me by promising a more reasonable tomorrow.
To sleep perchance to dream
Sleep is often the only occasion in which man cannot silence his conscience; we forget what we knew in our dream.
In practice it is death that works so
seductively behind the image of its brother, sleep
Sleep, when deep enough, is indistinguishable from vigilance.
The more naps you take, the more awakenings you experience.
Not slumber, but sleep just this side of waking, where dreams fuse with reality.
In between awake and asleep, that's where one finds their most conscious dilemmas trying to surface.
consciousness-raising.
Consciousness of unconsciousness
Preserve me from unseasonable and immoderate sleep.
Never go to sleep
without a request to your subconscious.
Lack of concentration makes one tired, while concentration wakes one up.
Before you sleep, experience yourself as what you really are by recognizing the vast space inside you, and feeling the Energy-Consciousness, LifeParticles, overflowing through the space and through your body.
O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth!
When I was younger, I felt it was my duty to wake people up. I thought poetry was asleep. I thought rock 'n' roll was asleep.
Sleep has no place it can call its own.
For often, when one is asleep, there is something in consciousness which declares that what then presents itself is but a dream.
My first line of defense against reality is called sleep.
Are you walking asleep, or living awake?
The delicious, semiconscious, edge-of-wonderland kind of sleep, where I'm awake enough to control my dreams but asleep enough to forget that I'm doing it.
To realise our dreams we must decide to wake up.
It is tempting to think of this form of insomnia, the inability to fall asleep, as a disease of agency and control: the inability to relinquish high self-reflexive consciousness for the vulnerable, ignorant regions of slumber in which we know not what we do.