A rainy Sunday. Perfect day to catch up on some much needed sleep.….sleep – the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast . . .
Act II, scene ii, Macbeth by William Shakespeare
. . . Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy . . .
The Dream, Lord Byron
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