Bataille’s The Impossible:
Day is falling, the fire is dying, and I’ll soon have to stop writing, obliged by the cold to retract my hands. With the curtains drawn aside, I can make out the silence and the snow through the window panes. Under a low sky, this infinite silence weighs on me and frightens me. It lies heavy like the intangible presence of bodies laid out in death.
Lars Iyer's Blog 