It’s a rare book that wins the battle against drooping eyelids.

I was tired and wet and hungover, but I was usually that way and I waded through the weariness like I did the water.

The Christian life is one of faith, where we find ourselves routinely overdriving our headlights but knowing it’s okay because God is in control and has a purpose behind it.

A stupid man stays awake all night pondering his problems; he’s worn out when morning comes and whatever was, still is.

Howl : I’m tired, make some hot water for my bath.
Calcifer : Not again!

Young Sophie : Calcifer.
Calcifer : Sophie, I’m so tired.
Young Sophie : If I give Howl back his heart, what will happen to you?
Calcifer : I’ll

Keep calm and enjoy no sleep.

I’m tired of you acting like you were the only guy who ever wanted her. Like you had some monopoly on liking her.

The Lord is never tired of your request, ask for what is good on this day and he would give you, I pray that the Lord decree a mighty favor for you today, good morning.

I emit, I hiss a rather tired and gentle word like “shit”, then tear this page from the machine. It’s your.

schoolgirls in pantyhose
sitting on bus stop benches
looking tired at 13
with their raspberry lipstick.
it’s hot in the sun
and the day at school has been
dull, and going home is
dull, and
I drive by in my car
peering at their warm legs.
their eyes look
away—
they’ve been warned
about ruthless and horny old
studs; they’re just not going
to give it away like that.
and yet it’s dull
waiting out the minutes on
the bench and the years at
home, and the books they
carry are dull and the food
they eat is dull, and even
the ruthless, horny old studs
are dull.

the girls in pantyhose wait,
they await the proper time and
moment, and then they will move
and then they will conquer.

I drive around in my car
peeking up their legs
pleased that I will never be
part of their heaven and
their hell. but that scarlet
lipstick on those sad waiting
mouths! it would be nice to
kiss each of them once, fully,
then give them back.
but the bus will
get them first.

I’m not flirting, I’m just tired.

She could talk. If she was a sphinx she could have talked, if she was a stone she could have talked. I wondered when she’d get tired and leave. Even after I stopped listening it was like being battered with tiny pingpong balls.

I’m very sure you must have been tired because you have been running through my mind all through the night and this morning too.

I just heard, “UP! Do you know what time it is?!”
I looked at the clock and groggily muttered, “It’s seven thirty-six.”
“No, Pudge. It’s party time!”

I was so tired of her getting upset for no reason. The way she would get sulky and make references to the freaking oppressive nature of tragedy or whatever but then never said what was wrong, never have any goddamned reason to be sad. And I just think you ought to have a reason. My girlfriend dumped me, so I’m sad. I got caught smoking, so I’m pissed off. My head hurts, so I’m cranky. She never had a reason, Pudge. I was just so tired of putting up with her drama. And I just let her go. Christ.

You can be poor and tired in raggedy clothes, but walk tall with your head high and nobody knows.

If you’re tired of starting over, stop giving up.

You’ll never get a new ending if you keep starting with the same tired beginning.

Could the two people who are making out please be quiet? Those of us who are not making out are drunk and tired.

Mia: Jesus Christ, Dom! Would you get out here please? I’m sick of this shit! I’m not kidding, Dom! Get out here!
Dom: What’d you put on that sandwich?
Mia: That’s *really* funny!
Letty: DOM!
Dom: Alright.

You look a bit tired… I think you should go upstairs and give me a massage.

I lapsed into my pathetic cut-off period. Often with humans, both good and bad, my senses simply shut off, they get tired, I give up. I am polite. I nod. I pretend to understand because I don’t want anybody to be hurt. That is the one weakness that has lead me into the most trouble. Trying to be kind to others I often get my soul shredded into a kind of spiritual pasta. No matter. My brain shuts off. I listen. I respond. And they are too dumb to know that I am not there.

A driver can become easily tired and stressed due to being overworked sleep pattern changes. It is vitally important to find out if a potential driver can deal with stress on a daily basis.

We ain’t meant to survive, cause it’s a setup, And even though you’re fed up, Huh, ya got to keep your head up.

I don’t get tired..what you tired of.

Nights are sleepless, Days are sleepy.

I’m a trucker. I don’t stop when I’m tired, I stop when I’m done.

Due to tonight’s lack of sleep, tomorrow has been canceled.

Get it, get fly, I got six jobs, I don’t get tired.

Can’t drive all night.

I am afflicted, afflicted, afflicted!
Sleep has deserted my eyes
Through my longing for Thee…

This is so fun…but I’m so sleepy. To be continued?

Marcus Copeland: You know what? I ain’t going to deal with this. I’m tired, okay? I had a long day at work. I got shot at.
Gina: See, that is exactly what I’m talking about. We don’t communicate.
Marcus Copeland: Okay, fine. You wanna communicate.
Gina: Yes.
Marcus Copeland: Come on. Let’s communicate. Okay?
Gina: Okay. Let’s start with last week.
Marcus Copeland: Last week.
Gina: You and I were supposed to go shopping together. We get to the mall. I buy this beautiful dress, I get my hair done. You don’t say anything. I don’t know, maybe you just want to…

I’m like, four days past my bedtime.

I have two moods:
Sleep is for the weak.
I need to sleep for a week.

Morning: Tired
Afternoon: Dying for a rest
Night: Can’t Sleep

50 shades of dark circles under my eyes.

If only I could bottle up the drowsiness that plagued me during the day so I could use it at bedtime.

She lay down and never stirred. To move hand or foot, or even so much as one finger, would have been an exertion beyond the powers of either volition or motion. She was so tired, so stunned, that she thought she never slept at all; her feverish thoughts passed and repassed the boundary between sleeping and waking, and kept their own miserable identity.

I’m so tired. Sleep’s been stalking me for too long to remember. Inevitable I suppose.

Finally, as the sky began to grow light in the morning, I’d feel that I might be drifting off. But that wasn’t sleep. My fingertips were just barely brushing against the outermost edge of sleep. And all the while, my mind was awake. I would feel a hint of drowsiness, but my mind was there, in its own room, on the other side of a transparent wall, watching me. My physical self was drifting through the feeble morning light, and all the while it could feel my mind staring, breathing, close beside it. I was both a body on the verge of sleep and a mind determined to stay awake.

The incomplete drowsiness would continue on and off all day. My head was always foggy. I couldn’t get an accurate fix on the things around me—their distance or mass or texture. The drowsiness would overtake me at regular, wavelike intervals: on the subway, in the classroom, at the diner table. My mind would slip away from my body. The world would sway soundlessly. I would drop things. My pencil or my purse or my fork would clatter to the floor. All I wanted was to throw myself down and sleep. But I couldn’t. The wakefulness was always there beside me. I could feel its chilling shadow. It was the shadow of myself. Weird, I would think as the drowsiness overtook me, I’m in my own shadow. I would walk and eat and talk to people inside my drowsiness. And the strangest thing was that no one noticed. I lost fifteen pounds that month, and no one noticed. No one in my family, not one of my friends or classmates, realized that I was going through life asleep.

It was literally true: I was going through life asleep. My body had no more feeling than a drowned corpse. My very existence, my life in the world, seemed like a hallucination. A strong wind would make me think that my body was about to be blown to the end of the earth, to some land I had never seen or heard of, where my mind and body would separate forever. Hold tight, I would tell myself, but there was nothing for me to hold on to.

When I don’t sleep, it’s not that I feel tired so much as assaulted. In the morning after a night of no sleep my eyes are sore and tender and can barely open. My joints ache. There’s a taste in my mouth which isn’t like any other taste, only a feeling, and that feeling is defeat. My skull aches evenly across its hemisphere. […] I go to bed at night, I get beaten up, come downstairs in the morning. Then I go about the day as if things were normal and I hadn’t been beaten up, and everyone else treats me as if I hadn’t been beaten up, and that way I survive, but no more than that. If somebody willed your destruction they could do it this way, by taking away your sleep. Of course, it’s tried and tested.

My day starts backwards … I wake up tired and go to bed wide awake.

I’m sick and tired of carrying all the weight, the coaches and owners not giving me the shit I need to win. Atlanta, you’re f**king out. Kenny Powers is now a free agent. Let’s buy the bar and get s**tfaced. Get me paid, b**ch!