Thousands Of Sleepless Night Quotes

The important things in life always happened by accident. At fifteen she didn’t know much, in fact, with each passing year she was a lot less clear about most things. But this much she did know. You could worry yourself sick trying to be a better person, spend a thousand sleepless nights figuring out how to live clean and decent and honest, you could make a plan and bolt it in place, kneel by your bed every night and swear to God you’d stick to it, hell, you could go to church and promise properly. You could cross your heart seven times with your eyes tight shut, cut your thumb and squeeze it and pen solemn vows on a rock with your own blood then throw it in the river at the stroke of midnight. And then, out of the black beyond, like a hawk on a rat, some nameless catastrophe would swoop into your life and turn everything upside down and inside out forever.

In those years I did not care to enjoy sex, only to have it. That is what seeing Alex again on Fifth Avenue brought back to me - a youth of fascinated, passionless copulation. There they are, figures in a discoloured blur, young men and not so young, the nice ones with automobiles, the dull ones full of suspicions and stinginess. By asking a thousand questions of many heavy souls, I did not learn much. You receive biographies interesting mainly for their coherence. So many are children who from the day of their birth are growing up to be their parents. Look at the voting records, inherited like flat feet.

We enjoy lovely music, beautiful paintings, a thousand intellectual delicacies, but we have no idea of their cost, to those who invented them, in sleepless nights, tears, spasmodic laughter, rashes, asthmas, epilepsies, and the fear of death, which is worse than all the rest.

And of course she's sad about losing her leg, but she says it's made her realise how many things she hasn't lost...it's like a millionaire who loses a thousand dollars- he's sad, but he's still not that bad off.

And so I make my way across the room steadily, carefully. Hands shaking, I pull the string, lifting my blinds. They rise slowly, drawing more moonlight into the room with every inch And there he is, crouched low on the roof. Same leather jacket. The hair is his, the cheekbones, the perfect nose . . . the eyes: dark and mysterious . . . full of secrets. . . . My heart flutters, body light. I reach out to touch him, thinking he might disappear, my fingers disrupted by the windowpane. On the other side, Parker lifts his hand and mouths: “Hi.” I mouth “Hi” back. He holds up a single finger, signalling me to hold on. He picks up a spiral-bound notebook and flips open the cover, turning the first page to me. I recognize his neat, block print instantly: bold, black Sharpie. I know this is unexpected . . . , I read. He flips the page. . . . and strange . . . I lift an eyebrow. . . . but please hear read me out. He flips to the next page. I know I told you I never lied . . . . . . but that was (obviously) the biggest lie of all. The truth is: I’m a liar. I lied. I lied to myself . . . . . . and to you. Parker watches as I read. Our eyes meet, and he flips the page. But only because I had to. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you, Jaden . . . . . . but it happened anyway. I clear my throat, and swallow hard, but it’s squeezed shut again, tight. And it gets worse. Not only am I a liar . . . I’m selfish. Selfish enough to want it all. And I know if I don’t have you . . . I hold my breath, waiting. . . . I don’t have anything. He turns another page, and I read: I’m not Parker . . . . . . and I’m not going to give up . . . . . . until I can prove to you . . . . . . that you are the only thing that matters. He flips to the next page. So keep sending me away . . . . . . but I’ll just keep coming back to you. Again . . . He flips to the next page. . . . and again . . . And the next: . . . and again. Goose bumps rise to the surface of my skin. I shiver, hugging myself tightly. And if you can ever find it in your (heart) to forgive me . . . There’s a big, black “heart” symbol where the word should be. I will do everything it takes to make it up to you. He closes the notebook and tosses it beside him. It lands on the roof with a dull thwack. Then, lifting his index finger, he draws an X across his chest. Cross my heart. I stifle the happy laugh welling inside, hiding the smile as I reach for the metal latch to unlock my window. I slowly, carefully, raise the sash. A burst of fresh honeysuckles saturates the balmy, midnight air, sickeningly sweet, filling the room. I close my eyes, breathing it in, as a thousand sleepless nights melt, slipping away. I gather the lavender satin of my dress in my hand, climb through the open window, and stand tall on the roof, feeling the height, the warmth of the shingles beneath my bare feet, facing Parker. He touches the length of the scar on my forehead with his cool finger, tucks my hair behind my ear, traces the edge of my face with the back of his hand. My eyes close. “You know you’re beautiful? Even when you cry?” He smiles, holding my face in his hands, smearing the tears away with his thumbs. I breathe in, lungs shuddering. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, black eyes sincere. I swallow. “I know why you had to.” “Doesn’t make it right.” “Doesn’t matter anymore,” I say, shaking my head. The moon hangs suspended in the sky, stars twinkling overhead, as he leans down and kisses me softly, lips meeting mine, familiar—lips I imagined, dreamed about, memorized a mil ion hours ago. Then he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him, quelling every doubt and fear and uncertainty in this one, perfect moment.

As one sat in the aeroplane amidst all the noise, smoking and loud talking, most unexpectedly, the sense of immensity and that extraordinary benediction which was felt at il L., that imminent feeling of sacredness, began to take place. The body was nervously tense because of the crowd, noise, etc. but in spite of all this, it was there. The pressure and the strain were intense and there was acute pain at the back of the head. There was only this state and there was no observer. The whole body was wholly in it and the feeling of sacredness was so intense that a groan escaped from the body and passengers were sitting in the next seats. It went on for several hours, late into the night. It was as though one was looking, not with eyes only but with a thousand centuries; it was altogether a strange occurrence. The brain was completely empty, all reaction had stopped; during all those hours, one was not aware of this emptiness but only in writing it is the thing known, but this knowledge is only descriptive and not real. That the brain could empty itself is an odd phenomenon. As the eyes were closed, the body, the brain seemed to plunge into unfathomable depths, into states of incredible sensitivity and beauty. The passenger in the next seat began to ask something and having replied, this intensity was there; there was no continuity but only being. And dawn was coming leisurely and the clear sky was filling with light - As this is being written late in the day, with sleepless fatigue, that sacredness is there. The pressure and the strain too.

When friends betray us When darkness seems to win We know that pain reminds this heart That this is not, This is not our home It's not our home 'Cause what if your blessings come through rain drops What if Your healing comes through tears What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You're near What if my greatest disappointments or the aching of this life Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy What if trials of this life The rain, the storms, the hardest nights Are your mercies in disguise

Moms come in all shapes and sizes. There is no formula for the perfect mom. But there is one thing we all have in common - and that is the deep love we carry for our sons & daughters. Love takes many forms: It looks like a cuddle after a scraped knee. It looks like working two jobs to make ends meet. It looks like giving your last mouthful to your child who asks for a bite. It looks like sleepless nights with the kid who has a temperature. It looks like enforcing consequences for actions. It looks like a thousand packed lunchboxes. It looks like being your child’s biggest fan. It looks worn knees from praying and it looks like “I love you” said a million times. Mothers are the glue that holds a family together.

Somewhere between brute silence and last Sunday's Thirteen hundred thousand sermons; Somewhere between Calvin on Christ (God help us!) and the lizards; Somewhere between seeing and speaking, somewhere Between our soiled and greasy currency of words And the first star, the great moths fluttering About the ghosts of flowers, Lies the clear place where I, no longer I, Nevertheless remember Love's nightlong wisdom of the other shore; And, listening to the wind, remember too That other night, that first of widowhood, Sleepless, with death beside me in the dark. Mine, mine, all mine, mine inescapably! But I, no longer I, In this clear place between my thought and silence See all I had and long, anguish and joys, Glowing like gentians in the Alpine grass, Blue, unpossessed and open.

Handling a crisis from the emotional rather than the intellectual level will shorten its duration dramatically. In the case of someone who loses a job, handling it from the intellectual level will produce thousands of thoughts and hypothetical scenarios. The person suffers through many sleepless nights due to the racing thoughts about the situation as the mind reviews it over and over again. All of this is fruitless. Until the underlying emotion is surrendered, the thoughts will be engendered endlessly.

Losing $40,000 is a gut-wrenching experience. The pit in your stomach, the sleepless nights, the constant replaying of "what if" scenarios – it's a storm of emotions that can leave you feeling helpless. My own foray into this financial nightmare unfolded when I fell victim to an elaborate online scam. $40,000, gone. Just like that. The initial shock gave way to a desperate scramble for answers. Hours spent scouring the internet, countless calls to banks and authorities, all leading to dead ends. The frustration and fear gnawed at me, and with each passing day, hope dwindled. Just as I was about to resign myself to my unfortunate fate, a light appeared: ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST . Skeptical but clinging to a last thread of hope, I reached out. From the very first contact, it was different. They didn't sugarcoat the situation, but their empathy and professionalism were a balm to my battered spirits. The recovery process, however, was far from smooth. The scammers had covered their tracks well, leaving a tangled web of digital breadcrumbs. The challenges were immense: Complexities of the scam: The perpetrators had used a sophisticated scheme, involving offshore accounts and cryptocurrency transfers. Unraveling it required expertise beyond my own tech savvy. Limited information: visit their website: adwarerecoveryspecialist.expert With little to trace, the investigation relied heavily on ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST meticulous analysis and resourcefulness. Their ability to think outside the box was crucial. Time constraints: Every passing day meant the trail grew colder, increasing the chances of my money vanishing forever. The pressure was immense, yet ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST never wavered in their dedication. Through it all, ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST was my constant anchor. They kept me informed of every step, explained the complexities in layman's terms, and most importantly, never gave up hope. Their unwavering belief in my case inspired me to keep fighting. And then, the breakthrough, following weeks of unrelenting pursuit. ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST located a critical piece of information that let them locate the offender's virtual hideout. After a protracted and stressful battle, the good folks prevailed in the end. My forty thousand dollars had been laboriously reclaimed from the thieves' hands and was once again within my digital reach. The relief was overwhelming. My nightmare had ended, replaced by an immense gratitude for the team at ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST. They weren't just recovery specialists; they were my digital knights in shining armor, wielding their expertise and resilience to restore what was lost. Direct Email: Adwarerecoveryspecialist@auctioneer.net Regards.v

Losing $40,000 is a gut-wrenching experience. The pit in your stomach, the sleepless nights, the constant replaying of "what if" scenarios – it's a storm of emotions that can leave you feeling helpless. My own foray into this financial nightmare unfolded when I fell victim to an elaborate online scam. $40,000, gone. Just like that. The initial shock gave way to a desperate scramble for answers. Hours spent scouring the internet, countless calls to banks and authorities, all leading to dead ends. The frustration and fear gnawed at me, and with each passing day, hope dwindled. Just as I was about to resign myself to my unfortunate fate, a light appeared: ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST . Skeptical but clinging to a last thread of hope, I reached out. From the very first contact, it was different. They didn't sugarcoat the situation, but their empathy and professionalism were a balm to my battered spirits. The recovery process, however, was far from smooth. The scammers had covered their tracks well, leaving a tangled web of digital breadcrumbs. The challenges were immense: Complexities of the scam: The perpetrators had used a sophisticated scheme, involving offshore accounts and cryptocurrency transfers. Unraveling it required expertise beyond my own tech savvy. Limited information: visit their website: adwarerecoveryspecialist.expert With little to trace, the investigation relied heavily on ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST meticulous analysis and resourcefulness. Their ability to think outside the box was crucial. Time constraints: Every passing day meant the trail grew colder, increasing the chances of my money vanishing forever. The pressure was immense, yet ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST never wavered in their dedication. Through it all, ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST was my constant anchor. They kept me informed of every step, explained the complexities in layman's terms, and most importantly, never gave up hope. Their unwavering belief in my case inspired me to keep fighting. And then, the breakthrough, following weeks of unrelenting pursuit. ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST located a critical piece of information that let them locate the offender's virtual hideout. After a protracted and stressful battle, the good folks prevailed in the end. My forty thousand dollars had been laboriously reclaimed from the thieves' hands and was once again within my digital reach. The relief was overwhelming. My nightmare had ended, replaced by an immense gratitude for the team at ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST. They weren't just recovery specialists; they were my digital knights in shining armor, wielding their expertise and resilience to restore what was lost. Direct Email: Adwarerecoveryspecialist@auctioneer.net Regards.