"There was a flowing in upon me, from the barren years beyond, a dejection such as I had never conceived. It was not at all like the agonies I had endured before and have endured since. I did not weep or wring my hands. I was like water put into a bottle and left in a cellar: utterly motionless, never to be drunk, poured out, spilled, or shaken. The days were endless. The very shadows seemed nailed to the ground as if the sun no longer moved."
-- C.S. Lewis, Till we have Faces