Jean Macé, The History of a Mouthful of Bread
“ While the cold lasted he staid squatting in his hiding-place—not asleep, but annihilated—congealed, so to speak, like water caught by the frost; no longer digesting, and hardly breathing, he had ceased to live in reality: and it is no imaginary regeneration which the return of warmth brings to him. Like those helpless people who have not the power to carve out their own destinies, reptiles have within them only an insufficient source of animation; their life is at the mercy of the sun, and is high or low, according as that rises or sets in the heavens. ”
