"Little by little things began to assume a new aspect. The sense of insecurity vanished, words came of themselves, I was no longer so painfully conscious of everything I said. I drank on and felt the great soft wave approach and embrace me; the dark hour began to fill with pictures and stealthily the noiseless procession of dreams appeared again superimposed on the dreary, grey landscape of existence. The walls of the bar receded and suddenly it was no longer the bar—it was a little corner of the world, a haven of refuge, a dugout around which the eternal battle of chaos was raging and in which we two sat sheltering, mysteriously drifted to one another through the twilight of time."
- E. R. Remarque, Three Comrades, tr. Wheen.