That great god Sleep: I yield to him all greediness for time. What does he care about Time! Ten hours, eleven, even twelve — if he wants to consume them in his silencing and privileged way, let him. Alas, I seldom manage to retire early; evening is my time to read. Seductive books, aided by the improbably intensifying noises of the old house, usually keep me awake till past midnight. The personal errands of the mouse in the thick walls of some yet-to-be-cleared inner room deepen the mystery of the endless surrounding night.

— Rilke, Letter to Lou Andreas-Salome
January 13, 1923