睡 (shuì)

Sleep now.

Sleep now.

I want to sleep.

I will hit the sack.

Sweet dreams, Timmy.

I want to sleep.

I couldn't sleep.

Close your eyes and go to sleep.

Are you sleeping?

I can't sleep well.

She is sleeping.

I'm sleeping.

You are sleeping.

Let me sleep just a little bit longer.

Let me sleep for ten more minutes.

I always take a bath before going to bed.

He sleeps by day and works by night.

The baby fell asleep in the cradle.

Do not oversleep tomorrow morning.

Be quiet. The kids are asleep.

I only slept for three hours.

He's been asleep for ten hours now.

You must go to bed now.

It's already eleven. It's high time you were in bed.

It is close to eleven. It's about time we went to bed.

After sleeping well, I felt much better.

I can't take it anymore! I haven't slept for three days!

I'm accustomed to sleeping in a room without air conditioning.

It took me a little more time than usually to fall asleep.

We cannot sleep well on summer nights.

They haven't slept for forty-eight hours.

Tom slept through the entire movie.

I'm tired; I think I'm going to go to bed.

She passed away peacefully in her sleep.

I often slept on that bench when I was homeless.

Now that I have finished this assignment I want to go to sleep, but I have to go to school.

Tom apologized for falling asleep in class.

Tom is asleep on the couch.

I want to sleep.

When Mike returned to Jane's house, she was sleeping.

I have no place to sleep tonight.

Sorry, I'm 30 minutes late because I overslept.

I can't sleep because of the noise.

"If you're tired, why don't you go to sleep?" "Because if I go to sleep now I will wake up too early."

Each day is a little life; every waking and rising a little birth; every fresh morning a little youth; every going to rest and sleep a little death.

There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after the children fall asleep and wonder how they'll make the mortgage, or pay their doctor's bills, or save enough for their child's college education.

The young men were mostly inconvenienced by the lack of bread and wine, and good lodging at night time, for as it was late in autumn, they did not think it safe to sleep on board their boat, but in apprehension of the storms, usual at this season, drew the craft on shore.

It's Lulu Island, 3 August 2025. After supper—green figs tender with sunlight, sweet vinegar from yesterday’s pickled jar, and reheated Alfredo—I sat on the balcony and watched the conifer. Stillness below, a street without cars, without haste. My lime water, iced, caught the light. Michael, the Franco-Danish ufologist, has been in my conversations lately. We speak of inner things: the trance of smart devices, the mind’s eye dwindling. He says cafés aren’t cafés anymore. People forget how to look, how to linger. I tell him of Arthur in Japan—how he'd stare into blank walls like a monk gazing at emptiness. Lately I ask machines to speak like poets, and they do. They mimic Elizabethan verses and the old wistful lilt of Tagalog ballads. I pick blackberries along the path to Tim Hortons. "¡Moras!" I shout like a child. My friend Mora, whose blood flows with Andes mist, would smile. Today, I bought lemons. I meant limes, but lemons are all right. / blackberry morning— / a fig's ghost on my fingers / and the street still sleeps

Far away beyond the pine-woods, there is a little garden. There the grass grows long and deep, there are the great white stars of the hemlock flower, there the nightingale sings all night long. All night long he sings, and the cold crystal moon looks down, and the yew-tree spreads out its giant arms over the sleepers.

Miss Baker knew that the young man would have to leave very soon, so she decided to ask him to move his car a bit, so that she could park hers in the proper place for the night before going to bed.