Sentence examples for silent sleep from inspiring English sources

McIntosh and Silent Sleep then embarked on a Pledge Music campaign to fund the record, which came out last month.

Beautiful yet melancholic, Silent Sleep take you on an autobiographical journey of love and loss, through honest, heartfelt melodies.

Silent Sleep is the creation of 31-year-old Liverpudlian Chris McIntosh, who moved to Berlin in 2010 to start writing and recording music.

Keeping it in the main living area of the house is also made possible by this printer's environmentally thoughtful narcolepsy; it goes to completely silent sleep when you're not printing.

"The silent sleep loss epidemic is one of the greatest public health challenges we face in the 21st century," says Walker, who has served as a sleep consultant to the NBA, NFL and Pixar Animation Studios, among other Fortune 500 enterprises.

That solar event in the middle of a sleepy late September afternoon draws the lonely, withdrawn inhabitants of a middle-class Long Island town out of their immaculate houses to wander through the deserted streets like zombies stirring to life after a long, silent sleep.

The foe long since in silence slept Alike the conqueror silent sleeps, And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream that seaward creeps.

But it was just that silent, bottomless sleep.

Histaminergic neurons are silent during sleep, and start firing after wake onset [4 6]; the released histamine, made by the enzyme histidine decarboxylase (HDC), enhances wakefulness [7 11].

They want you to sleuth around a hotel, deciphering "Macbeth" from silent actors ("Sleep No More"); or to converse with a character fated to become a sex-trafficking victim while driving around Brooklyn with her in a bus ("Roadkill"); or, in "Here Lies Love," to bust moves while watching a bio-musical about Imelda Marcos, notorious former first lady of the Philippines.

Gathered like pearls in their alien graves Silent they sleep by the Persian waves, Scattered like shells on Egyptian sands, They lie with pale brows and brave, broken hands, they are strewn like blossoms mown down by chance On the blood-brown meadows of Flanders and France Can ye measure the grief of the tears I weep Or compass the woe of the watch I keep?