The insensibility of our sleep is so complete that the gallop of the least dream doesn’t succeed in traversing it, in refreshing it. The chances of death are submerged by such an inundation of the absolute that to think of it is enough to make one lose temptation of life that one invokes, that one begs for. We must love each other much, this once more, breathe with greater strength than the lungs of the executioner.
René Char, Leaves of Hypnos (via processes)

(via processes)