1. From "Saturday," by Ian McEwan, (2005)
"He closes his eyes. This time there'll be no trouble falling towards oblivion, there's nothing can stop him now. Sleep's no longer a concept, it's a material thing, an ancient means of transport, a softly moving belt, conveying him into Sunday. He fits himself around her, her silk pyjamas, her scent, her warmth, her beloved form, and draws closer to her. Blindly, he kisses her nape. There's always this, is one of his remaining thoughts. And then: there's only this. And at last, faintly, falling: this day's over."
2. From "A Day in the Life," by The Beatles (1967)
Found my way upstairs and had a smoke
And somebody spoke, and I went into a dream
...
Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall.
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