A Quote by Devon Monk

I needed sleep. Big squishy bunches of it. Soon. — © Devon Monk
I needed sleep. Big squishy bunches of it. Soon.
I've never been to a festival. I'm a creature of habit, mashed-potato comfort, I like rugs. Our sofa's squishy. Maybe too squishy - it's hard to get up sometimes.
zoegirl: have u named the chicks? SnowAngel:yes, but i keep getting them mixed up. so now i call all of them "squishy." they're the collective squishy. zoegirl: *r* they squishy? SnowAngel: when you squeeze them,yes. but not in a yucky way. SnowAngel: they're growing on me, the little squishies. altho 1 of them pooped on my pillow. zoegirl: u let them on your bed? SnowAngel: they like it when i bounce them.
Some moments can only be cured with a big squishy grandma hug.
I expected to be in the big leagues soon. I didn't know exactly how soon, but I wanted to be here soon, and I wanted to make a difference soon.
And soon all of us will sleep under the earth, we who never let each other sleep above it.
I don't sleep much. I think it's hereditary. My mom doesn't sleep. My dad never slept. My naps are definitely when I get the most sleep. I'm a big napper - that's when I get most of my sleep.
If you were not to set an alarm clock, would you sleep past it? If the answer is yes, then there is clearly more sleep that is needed.
My mother says that pain is hidden in everyone you see. She says try to imagine it like big bunches of flowers that everyone is carrying around with them. Think of your pain like a big bunch of red roses, a beautiful thorn necklace. Everyone has one.
Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
Something was causing me not to be able to sleep, and then after a while your brain doesn't want to turn off and go to sleep. And so it was constant battle with that. But as soon as I had the neck surgery, I started sleeping again.
Clearly, enriching the cosmos with heavy elements takes a while. So there's inevitably an interval between the sterile aftermath of the Big Bang and a time when the cosmic chemistry set had enough ingredients to make rocky planets (and squishy biology).
No matter how brilliant or accomplished they are, there is something emasculating for men in being pitted against a woman. It is even more true in creative fields already considered to be "squishy" and feminine, and it's a big problem because great women have been left off the record.
Have we so soon forgotten those four years of terrible carnage, the greatest war of all time; forgotten the millions of men who gave their lives, who made the supreme sacrifice and who today, beneath the soil of France and Belgium, sleep the eternal sleep?
I've always been a very good sleeper. I can sleep any time, anywhere and never lost sleep before a big match.
I'm sure you've heard people talk about their Heart's Desire—well that's a load of rot. Hearts are idiots. They're big and squishy and full of daft dreams. They flounce off to write poetry and moon at folk who aren't worth the mooning. Bones are the ones that have to make the journey, fight the monster, kneel before whomever is big on kneeling these days. Bones do the work for the heart's grand plans. Bones know what you need. Hearts only know want.
You were dead, you were sleeping the big sleep, you were not bothered by things like that, oil and water were the same as wind and air to you. You just slept the big sleep, not caring about the nastiness of how you died or where you fell. Me, I was part of the nastiness now. Far more a part of it than Rusty Regan was.
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