The Diary of a Drug Fiend. Aleister Crowley

a vast irresistible river. I felt that nothing could ever stop it, or even change the current in any important respect. My consciousness had something of the quality of a fixed star proceeding through space by right of its eternal destiny. And the stream carried me on from one set of thoughts to another, slowly and without stress ; it was like a hushed symphony. It included all possible memories, changing imperceptibly from one to another without the faintest hint of jarring.

      I was aware of the flight of time, because a church clock struck somewhere far off at immense incalculable intervals. I knew, therefore, that I was making a white night of it. I was aware of dawn through the open French windows on the balcony.

      Ages, long ages, later, there was a chime of bells announcing early Mass; and gradually my thought became more slow, more dim ; the active pleasure of thinking became passive. Little by little the shadows crept across my reverie, and then I knew no more.