D.H. Lawrence might have been speaking for the majority of his fellow authors when he wrote, in his poem "Sleep & Waking," that "nothing in the world is lovelier than sleep, / dark, dreamless sleep, in deep oblivion!" Even more than paranoia, envy, or rampant egotism, a vulnerability to insomnia might well be the trait most commonly shared by serious writers throughout literary history, regardless of their personal temperament, aesthetic program, or country of origin. In fact, this painful and usually chronic malady has plagued writers so frequently, and with such intensity of anguish, that the insomniac state and its attendant longings might justifiably be considered metaphorical of the writer's rarefied inner world. If insomnia is the very image of his unblinking consciousness, his stubborn refusal to conclude, however briefly, his voracious scrutiny of the world and of his own mental processes, then it is not surprising that sleep— especially "dark, dreamless sleep, in deep oblivion!"— becomes the corresponding image of his most profound and unattainable desires.