“whenever Treadway was emotionally tired, he went to bed even earlier than usual, using sleep like a kind of temporary, convenient death.”

“He smiled, looking into the flames. "He used to sleep on the foot of my bed, bad breath and gas and all, and I even took him hunting.""It's odd to take a dog hunting?""Max? Yeah, sort of like taking along a brass band. He saved a lot of deer from death.”

“Tired, but not the kind of tired that sleep fixes.”

“I thought of a remark . . . that the United States is like a 'gigantic boiler. Once the fire is lighted under it there is no limit to the power it can generate.' Being saturated and satiated with emotion and sensation, I went to bed and slept the sleep of the saved and thankful.”

“Men are like dogs," Stacy was fond of saying. And she usually went on to add that, like dogs, they all took up too much space on the bed, and they always went for the crotch.”

“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?”