He was beginning to think that death was finally upon them and that they should find some place to hide where they would not be found. There were times when he sat watching the boy sleep that he would begin to sob uncontrollably but it wasn't about death. He wasn't sure what it was about, but he thought it was about beauty or about goodness. Things that he'd no longer any way to think about at all. They squatted in a bleak wood and drank ditch water strained through a rag. He'd seen the boy in a dream laid upon a cooling board and woke in horror. What he could bear in the waking world he could not by night and he sat awake for fear the dream would return.
Cormac McCarthy, The Road