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“I am clumsy, drop glasses and get drunk on Monday afternoons. I read Seneca and can recite Shakespeare by heart, but I mess up the laundry, don’t answer my phone and blame the world when something goes wrong. I think I have a dream, but most of the days I’m still sleeping. The grass is cut. It smells like strawberries. Today I finished four books and cleaned my drawers.
Do you believe in a God? Can I tell you about Icarus? How he flew too close to the sun?

I want to make coming home your favourite part of the day. I want to leave tiny little words lingering in your mind, on nights when you’re far away and can’t sleep. I want to make everything around us beautiful; make small things mean a little more. Make you feel a little more. A little better, a little lighter. The coffee is warm, this cup is yours. I want to be someone you can’t live without.

I want to be someone you can’t live without.”
― Charlotte Eriksson, He loved me some days. I'm sure he did: 99 essays on growth through loss

“Insomniacs know that there is something about the night. A darkness, an energy, a mystery that shrouds things. It hides things at the same time as it illuminates them. It is this thing that allows us to examine our thoughts in a way that we can't during the day. It is this thing that brings truth and clarity.”
― Courtney Cole, Nocte

“I can’t sleep alone anymore
and I get used to
company
too quickly. You’re always gone too soon.”
― Charlotte Eriksson, You're Doing Just Fine

“I've seen far more sunrises because I was up late than I have because I was up early.”
― Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing: The Best of Year One

“I feigned sleep until my mother left for school, but even my eyelids didn't shut out the light. They hung the raw, red screen of their tiny vessels in front of me like a wound. I crawled between the mattress and the padded bedstead and let the mattress fall across me like a tombstone. It felt dark and safe under there, but the mattress was not heavy enough.
It needed about a ton more weight to make me sleep.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“You say you want more sleeping pills?"
"Yes."
"But the ones I gave you last week are very strong."
"They don't work any more." […]
"What seems to be the matter?" Teresa said then.
"I can't sleep. I can't read." I tried to speak in a cool, calm way, but the zombie rose up in my throat and choked me off. I turned my hands palm up. "I think," Teresa tore off a white slip from her prescription pad and wrote down a name and address, "you'd better see another doctor I know. He'll be able to help you more than I can."
I peered at the writing, but I couldn't read it.
"Doctor Gordon," Teresa said. "He's a psychiatrist.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“I hadn't slept for seven nights. My mother told me I must have slept, it was impossible not to sleep in all that time, but if I slept, it was with my eyes wide open, for I had followed the green, luminous course of the second hand and the minute hand and the hour hand of the bedside clock through their circles and semi-circles, every night for seven nights, without missing a second, or a minute, or an hour.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar