William Shakespeare

Can a person endure all that pain and wake up? Suffering from insomnia?

Oh, ponder thou the plight of weary souls, who wander 'neath the heavens' vast expanse, like restless shadows cast by waning light, bound in the chains of sleepless, endless night. Can man, when fortune's wheel doth spin so ill, endure the tempest of relentless pain, as sorrow's specter doth upon him stand, a tyrant ruling with an iron hand? What dreams dissolve like mist before the morn, when gentle slumber's kiss eludes the brow, and heavy eyelids, as if leaden borne, resist the balm that nature would endow? In darkened hours, when whispering doubt doth creep, and hope, like softest moonlight, fades away, what strength lies in the heart that will not sleep, to wrestle with the night’s promissory sway? Yet through despair's oppressive cloak infused, the spirit, though beleaguered, may yet rise, for in the depths of anguish oft are fused the seeds of wisdom, flowering 'neath the skies. Thus, while the body may in torment pine, the mind's resilience shines, a beacon bright, revealing, though encumbered by design, that pain may yet befriend the waking light. To wake anew, thus dreaming with the stars, emerges from the depths of darkest fears, and he who bears the scars of pain well-worn shall greet the dawn as one who hears.