• What you hope for Is that at some point of the pointless journey, Indoors or out, and when you least expect it, Right in the middle of your stride, like that, So neatly that you never feel a thing, The kind assassin Sleep will draw a bead And blow your brains out.

    Richard Wilbur (2006). “Collected Poems 1943-2004”, p.237, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt