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“You need your beauty sleep for tomorrow"
she tells us "don't stay up too late talking"
We ignore her of course.The whole point of a sleepover is to stay up too late talking.”
― Heather Vogel Frederick, Dear Pen Pal

“Yes, you’re sleeping in my apartment,â€� I said. “On my sofa. It was an exciting night, but not that exciting. I’d really hope you’d remember if it had been.”
― Kelley Armstrong, Omens

“I was in some one else's house, so I woke up early - at eight - with that crazy sleeping-at-someone-else's-house energy.”
― Ned Vizzini, It's Kind of a Funny Story

“Every night was a somber, adults-only slumber party - no giggles or whispers, just lots of coughing and farting and snoring and groaning, the sounds and smells of too many stressed-out of people packed into too small a place.”
― Tom Perrotta, The Leftovers

“Two hours later, Nesta found herself fully clothed in a bathtub in the middle of the private library, the entire thing filled with bubbles. No water, just bubbles. In matching tubs on either side of her, Emerie and Gwyn were giggling. 'This is ridiculous,' Nesta said, even as her mouth curved upward.

Each one of their requests had gotten more and more absurd, and Nesta might have felt like they were exploiting the House had it not been so... exuberant in answering their commands. Adding creative flourishes.

Like the fact that each bubble held a tiny bird fluttering about inside.

Silent fireworks still exploded in the far corner of the room, and a miniature pegasus- Nesta's request, made only when her friends goaded her into submitting one- fed on a small patch of grass by the shelf, content to ignore them. A cake taller than Cassian stood in the centre of the room, lit with a thousand candles. Six frogs danced circles around a red-and-white-spotted toadstool, the waltzes provided by Nesta's Symphonia.

Emerie wore a diamond crown and six strings of pearls. Gwyn sported a broad-brimmed hat fit for any fine lady, perched at a rakish angle on her head. A lace parasol leaned against her other shoulder, and she twirled it idly as she surveyed the windows...”
― Sarah J. Maas, A ​Court of Silver Flames