I, Robot - Pg 142

   Something writhed within him and struggled against a growing blanket of ice, that thickened.
   Something broke loose and whirled in a blaze of flickering light and pain. It fell—
   —and whirled
   —and fell headlong
   —into silence!
   It was death!
   It was a world of no motion and no sensation. A world of dim, unsensing consciousness; a consciousness of darkness and of silence and of formless struggle.
   Most of all a consciousness of eternity.
   He was a tiny white thread of ego—cold and afraid.