How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no

The writer Bram Stoker, who gave the world the haunting figure of Dracula, once wrote: “How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads; to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams.” In these words lies a quiet ache — the envy of the tormented toward the serene, the sleepless soul gazing longingly at the peaceful. Stoker, a man who wandered through the shadows of imagination, understood that sleep is more than rest for the body; it is the soul’s nightly surrender, the brief return to innocence. To sleep without fear is not merely fortune — it is grace, a divine tranquility that many chase but few attain.

To understand the depth of this saying, one must remember that Stoker lived in the age of both wonder and terror. His mind roamed through gothic corridors and moonlit landscapes where nightmares took flesh. The author of Dracula was no stranger to the anxieties of his time — the fears of death, of the unknown, of the unseen powers that stalk men in the dark. Thus, when he speaks of those “blessed” who sleep peacefully, he speaks as one who has looked into the abyss and found no rest. His words are a whisper from a weary heart that has battled the storm of thought and yearned for calm.

For truly, what greater blessing is there than to close one’s eyes without dread? The poor man who sleeps peacefully is richer than the king who lies awake beneath golden ceilings. Many are the great and powerful who fear the silence of the night — for in that silence, the ghosts of memory awaken. The past returns; conscience speaks; the mind becomes a mirror reflecting every shadow of guilt or sorrow. But the blessed — those whose hearts are light and unburdened — drift easily into the gentle arms of sleep, and the dreams that follow are not hauntings, but harmonies. Sweet dreams come only to the souls that have made peace with themselves.

Consider the life of Abraham Lincoln, whose countenance bore both kindness and torment. History tells that in the final years of his life, he was plagued by nightmares — visions of his own death, of the Union in ruin, of specters wandering the White House halls. Yet he bore this burden with dignity, driven by duty. One might imagine how he longed for that simple gift which his countrymen took for granted — a night of unbroken rest, unshadowed by the weight of destiny. In contrast, how many humble souls, unknown to history, closed their eyes under a modest roof and slept in perfect peace! In this, the mighty and the lowly are reversed — for the crown of peaceful sleep belongs not to the powerful, but to the pure of heart.

The ancients knew this truth well. The Greeks spoke of Hypnos, the god of sleep, twin brother to death — gentle and merciful, laying his cool hands upon the eyes of men. To them, sleep was sacred, a nightly renewal of the soul’s strength. But even the gods granted no rest to the troubled. The restless man, they said, is visited by Eris, the spirit of discord, who fills his dreams with confusion. Thus, peace in sleep is not given — it is earned through the harmony of life, through the cleansing of one’s heart from envy, bitterness, and fear.

Stoker’s lament, then, is not merely about sleep — it is about inner stillness. It is about the chasm that divides the peaceful from the restless. For those whose hearts are in turmoil, no bed is soft enough, no night long enough, to grant rest. The restless soul must first conquer its fears and dreads, must forgive, must release. Only then does the blessing of sleep descend, like dew upon the weary grass. In that moment, man becomes again like a child — innocent, trusting, unafraid of the dark.

Let this truth be passed down to those who listen: to sleep sweetly is to live rightly. The one who seeks peaceful sleep must live a peaceful day — with honesty, with gratitude, and with gentleness toward others. Guard not only your body, but your spirit. Do not let the poison of resentment or the fever of ambition consume you. Turn from the noise of the world, and let your mind learn silence. For the night is a mirror, and it reflects what the day has written upon the heart.

And so, when you lay your head upon the pillow, remember Stoker’s yearning. Pray not only for rest, but for purity of mind, for the courage to face your fears in the light, that they may not haunt you in the dark. For those who live with open hearts, sleep will come as a blessing, bringing not nightmares but dreams — sweet dreams, gentle and golden, like dawn upon the soul.