A Quote by Robert Benchley

She sleeps alone at last. — © Robert Benchley
She sleeps alone at last.
She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart She sleeps: on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.
What is it that love does to a woman? Without she only sleeps; with it alone, she lives.
What is it that love does to a woman? Without she only sleeps with it alone, she lives.
He sleeps fastest who sleeps alone.
Everyone told me to sleep when the baby sleeps, but she sleeps during the daytime, and that's when I have to get stuff done! I've been a zombie.
She is never alone when she has Her Books. Books, to her, are Friends. Give her Shakespeare or Jane Austen, Meredith or Hardy, and she is Lost - lost in a world of her own. She sleeps so little that most of her nights are spent reading.
Not to mention, it’d be worth guarding her just for the eye candy alone – sheez, can you imagine being around that day in and day out. Wonder if she sleeps naked…Bet she showers that way. Every day even. Think about it. I’ll even bet she’s naked underneath her clothes. (Syn)
She had never before minded being alone. Now she dreaded it. When she was alone now she felt so dreadfully alone.
Sometimes when she was alone, and she knew she was alone, she permitted her mind to play in a garden, and she smiled.
I wonder how well she sleeps at night, and what kind of dreams she has. I wish I could step into them like she steps into mine.
The female that loves unrequited sleeps, And the male that loves unrequited sleeps, The head of the money-maker that plotted all day sleeps, And the enraged and treacherous dispositions, all, all sleep.
The city sleeps and the country sleeps, the living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time, the old husband sleeps by his wife and the young husband sleeps by his wife; and these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them, and such as it is to be of these more or less I am, and of these one and all I weave the song of myself.
Takako looked into Hiroki's eyes and grinned. "You've become quie a stud." "And...you're the most stylin' girl in the world." Takako smiled faintly. She wanted to thank him, but she was out of breath. She just stared at Hiroki's eyes. She was grateful. At least she wasn't going to die alone. The last person to stay with her ended up being Hiroki. And she was grateful. She really was.
Cam: She is so lovely when she sleeps. Daniel: Is that why you wanted her to sleep for all eternity?
The one thing a writer has to have is a pencil and some paper. That's enough, so long as she knows that she and she alone is in charge of that pencil, and responsible, she and she alone, for what it writes on that paper.
It was not often that she was alone like this and she did not like it. When she was alone she had to think and, these days, thoughts were not so pleasant.
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