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In its early stages, insomnia is almost an oasis in which those who have to think or suffer darkly take refuge.

The last refuge of the insomniac is a sense of superiority to the sleeping world.

It is tempting to think of this form of insomnia, the inability to fall asleep, as a disease of agency and control: the inability to relinquish high self-reflexive consciousness for the vulnerable, ignorant regions of slumber in which we know not what we do.

Insomnia is a gross feeder. It will nourish itself on any kind of thinking, including thinking about not thinking.

Insomnia is my greatest inspiration.

I am an insomniac.

Insomniacs tend to fall into two general categories - those who give up and those who don't. I don't. I refuse to admit defeat by turning on the light. I will not try to read or watch a movie, thank you. Productivity is a crutch of the weak.

I prefer insomnia to anaesthesia.

But what is all this fear of and opposition to Oblivion? What is the matter with the soft Darkness, the Dreamless Sleep?

For me, insomnia was something ordinary, and it came and went for ordinary reasons.