Drowsy Quotes

On this page you will find all the quotes on the topic "Drowsy". There are currently 61 quotes in our collection about Drowsy. Discover the TOP 10 sayings about Drowsy!
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  • When the voice of your friend or the page of your book sinks into democratic equality with the pattern of the wallpaper, the feel of your clothes, your memory of last night, and the noises from the road, you are falling asleep. The highly selective consciousness enjoyed by fully alert men, with all its builded sentiments and consecrated ideals, has as much to be called real as the drowsy chaos, and more.

    Dream   Memories   Real  
    C.S. Lewis (2005). “A Preface to Paradise Lost”, p.130, Atlantic Publishers & Dist
  • Some people wake up drowsy. Some people wake up energized. I wake up dead.

    Sleep   People   Wake Up  
  • Summer makes me drowsy. Autumn makes me sing. Winter's pretty lousy, but I hate Spring.

    Summer   Spring   Hate  
    Dorothy Parker (2004). “Dorothy Parker in Her Own Words”, Taylor Trade Publishing
  • It is the just doom of laziness and gluttony to be inactive without ease and drowsy without tranquility.

    Sloth   Ease   Laziness  
    Samuel Johnson, Arthur Murphy, Francis Pearson Walesby (1825). “The Works of Samuel Johnson, LL.D..: The Adventurer and Idler”, p.11
  • Seek out some retired and old-world spot, far from the madding crowd, and dream away a sunny week among its drowsy lanes - some half-forgotten nook, hidden away by the fairies, out of reach of the noisy world - some quaint-perched eyrie on the cliffs of Time, from whence the surging waves of the nineteenth century would sound far-off and faint.

    Dream   Sound   Half  
    Jerome K. Jerome (1998). “Three Men in a Boat and Three Men on the Bummel”, p.9, Oxford Paperbacks
  • If you can't pay for a thing, don't buy it. If you can't get paid for it, don't sell it.

    Pay   Drowsy   Paid  
  • A man reserves his true and deepest love not for the species of woman in whose company he finds himself electrified and enkindled, but for that one in whose company he may feel tenderly drowsy.

    Love   Witty   Men  
    George Jean Nathan, Charles Angoff (1998). “The World of George Jean Nathan: Essays, Reviews, & Commentary”, Hal Leonard Corporation
  • Warm are the still and lucky miles, White shores of longing stretch away, A light of recognition fills The whole great day, and bright The tiny world of lovers' arms. Silence invades the breathing wood Where drowsy limbs a treasure keep, Now greenly falls the learned shade Across the sleeping brows And stirs their secret to a smile. Restored! Returned! The lost are borne On seas of shipwreck home at last: See! In a fire of praising burns The dry dumb past, and we Our life-day long shall part no more.

    Fall   Sleep   Home  
  • When they turned off, it was still early in the pink and green fields. The fumes of morning, sweet and bitter, sprang up where they walked. The insects ticked softly, their strength in reserve; butterflies chopped the air, going to the east, and the birds flew carelessly and sang by fits and starts, not the way they did in the evening in sustained and drowsy songs.

    Music   Song   Sweet  
    Eudora Welty (1974). “The Wide Net and Other Stories”, p.51, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
  • When men were all asleep the snow came flying, In large white flakes falling on the city brown, Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying, Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town.

    Lying   Fall   Men  
    "London Snow" l. 1 (1890)
  • The study of books is a drowsy and feeble exercise which does not warm you up.

    Book   Exercise   Doe  
    Michel de Montaigne, Marvin Lowenthal (1999). “The Autobiography of Michel de Montaigne: Comprising the Life of the Wisest Man of His Times : His Childhood, Youth, and Prime : His Adventures in Love and Marriage, at Court, and in Office, War, Revolution, and Plague : His Travels at Home and Abroad : His Habits, Tastes, Whims, and Opinions”, p.165, David R. Godine Publisher
  • Baseball is the slow creation of something beautiful. It is the almost boringly paced accumulation of what seems slight or incidental into an opera of bracing suspense. The game will threaten never to end, until suddenly it forces you to marvel at how it came to be where it is and to wonder at how far it might go. It’s the drowsy metamorphosis of the dull into the indescribable.

  • O Spirit of the Summertime! Bring back the roses to the dells; The swallow from her distant clime, The honey-bee from drowsy cells. Bring back the friendship of the sun; The gilded evenings, calm and late, When merry children homeward run, And peeping stars bid lovers wait. Bring back the singing; and the scent Of meadowlands at dewy prime;- Oh, bring again my heart's content, Thou Spirit of the Summertime!

    Summer   Running   Stars  
    William Allingham (1865). “Fifty Modern Poems”, p.49
  • Chance does not speak essentially through words nor can it be seen in their convolution. It is the eruption of language, its sudden appearance. It's not a night twinkle with stars, an illuminated sleep, nor a drowsy vigil. It is the very edge of consciousness.

    Stars   Sleep   Night  
  • The dandelions and buttercups gild all the lawn: the drowsy bee stumbles among the clover tops, and summer sweetens all to me.

    Summer   July   Bees  
    James Russell Lowell (1871). “The poetical works of James Russell Lowell”, p.382
  • All through the deep blue night The fountain sang alone; It sang to the drowsy heart of the satyr carved in stone. The fountain sang and sang But the satyr never stirred- Only the great white moon In the empty heaven heard.

    Sunset   Heart   Moon  
    Sara Teasdale, William Drake (1984). “Mirror of the Heart: Poems of Sara Teasdale”, MacMillan Publishing Company
  • Over our manhood bend the skies; Against our fallen and traitor lives The great winds utter prophecies; With our faint hearts the mountain strives, Its arms outstretched, the druid wood Waits with its benedicite And to our age’s drowsy blood Still shouts the inspiring sea.

    Nature   Heart   Blood  
    James Russell Lowell (1871). “The poetical works of James Russell Lowell”, p.117
  • The air came laden with the fragrance it caught upon its way, and the bees, upborne upon its scented breath, hummed forth their drowsy satisfaction as they floated by.

    Nature   Air   Way  
    Charles Dickens (1868). “The Old Curiosity Shop: And Reprinted Pieces”, p.72
  • but the real enemy is the cold. It steals up on you quieter than Will, and at first you shiver and your teeth chatter and you stamp your feet and dream of mulled wine and nice hot fires. It burns, it does. Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don't have the strength to fight it. It's easier just to sit down ot go to sleep. They say you don't feel any pain toward the end. First you go weak and drowsy, and everything starts to fade, and then it's like sinking into a sea of warm milk. Peaceful, like.

    Dream   Pain   Real  
    George R. R. Martin (2011). “A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle: A Song of Ice and Fire Series: A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, and A Feast for Crows”, p.16, Bantam
  • A man may be said to love most truly that woman in whose company he can feel drowsy in comfort.

    Men   Comfort   May  
  • If you can't pay for a thing, don't buy it. If you can't get paid for it, don't sell it. Do this, and you will have calm and drowsy nights, with all of the good business you have now and none of the bad. If you have time, don't wait for time.

  • My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains/ My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.

    Pain   Heart   Sadness  
    'Ode to a Nightingale' (1820) st. 1
  • As soon as I got into the library I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I got a whiff of the leather on all the old books, a smell that got real strong if you picked one of them up and stuck your nose real close to it when you turned the pages. Then there was the the smell of the cloth that covered the brand-new books, books that made a splitting sound when you opened them. Then I could sniff the the paper, that soft, powdery, drowsy smell that comes off the page in little puffs when you're reading something or looking at some pictures, kind of hypnotizing smell.

    Strong   Real   Reading  
    Christopher Paul Curtis, Holt Rinehart & Winston (2002). “Bud, not Buddy: with connections”, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt (HMH)
  • I humbly thank the gods benign, For all the blessings that are mine... The morning drips her dew for me, Noon spreads an opal canopy. Home-bound, the drifting cloud-crafts rest Where sunset ambers all the west; Soft o'er the poppy-fields of sleep, The drowsy winds of dreamland creep. What idle things are wealth and fame Beside the treasures one could name!

  • The grapes on a score of rolling hills are red with autumn flame. Across Sonoma Mountain wisps of sea fog are stealing. The afternoon sun smoulders in the drowsy sky. I have everything to make me glad I am alive. I am filled with dreams and mysteries. I am all sun and air and sparkle. I am vitalized, organic.

    Dream   Autumn   Air  
    Jack London (2016). “John Barleycorn”, p.152, Xist Publishing
  • To remember love after long sleep; to turn again to poetry after a year in the market place, or to youth after resignation to drowsy and stiffening age; to remember what once you thought life could hold, after telling over with muddied and calculating fingers what it has offered; this is music, made after long silence. The soul flexes its wings, and, clumsy as any fledgling, tries the air again

    Sleep   Air   Years  
    Mary Stewart (1978). “Hollow Hills”, Fawcett
  • In the drowsy dark cave of the mind dreams build their nest with fragments dropped from day's caravan.

    Dream   Dark   Mind  
  • Perhaps, after all, our best thoughts come when we are alone. It is good to listen, not to voices but to the wind blowing, to the brook running cool over polished stones, to bees drowsy with the weight of pollen. If we attend to the music of the earth, we reach serenity. And then, in some unexplained way, we share it with others.

  • A grief without a pang, void, dark and drear, A drowsy, stifled, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet or relief, In word, or sigh, or tear.

    Grief   Dark   Tears  
    Samuel Coleridge, “Dejection: An Ode”
  • Some sins have no season. We are as likely to be angry in November as to lose our rag in March ... There is, though, something autumnal about greed, apple-cheeked and wheat-crowned, purpled knee-high in grapes; something summery in sloth, as the hammock creaks in the fly-drowsy heat; and more than a tickle of spring in lust, as birds pair and the sap rises. Among these, ingratitude is winter, the worst of seasons.

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