“I don’t sleep on the left side of the bed, or the right side, because there is a third option: to not sleep. After all, sleep is like death. Ah, but that’s life, no?”

“Time and death sleep side by side.”

“He was afraid of touching his own wrist. He never attempted to sleep on his left side, even in those dismal hours of the night when the insomniac longs for a third side after trying the two he has.”

“I don’t sleep naked, because that’s not proper beach etiquette.”

“The question is: is it better to be alive or dead? Is it nobler to put up with all the nasty things that luck throws your way, or to fight against all those troubles by simply putting an end to them once and for all? Dying, sleeping—that’s all dying is—a sleep that ends all the heartache and shocks that life on earth gives us—that’s an achievement to wish for. To die, to sleep—to sleep, maybe to dream. Ah, but there’s the catch: in death’s sleep who knows what kind of dreams might come, after we’ve put the noise and commotion of life behind us. That’s certainly something to worry about. That’s the consideration that makes us stretch out our sufferings so long.”

“Things are really fucked up right now. We hardly see each other anymore and when we do, we go to sleep on opposite sides of the bed”