The King of Limbs, p. 15 (fragment).

       Everything  was  normal  and  as  it  should
be  until  one  day  I  woke  up  and  there   was 
something wrong.
       I didn't know what it was, but it was a  kind
of  persistent  thing  that I couldn't quite ignore.
Something  was  cold  and   it  was   inside,  not 
outside. It was like a place where someone  had
poked me with an  icicle.  A  splinter  of   winter.
       The  days  passed  like  they do  and  I  just
got colder. The cold  spread  until  I  was  like  a
sculpture of  ice. I  didn't sneeze  any more, and
I couldn't cry and  if  I  tried  to come it  was like
a tendril  of  porcelain. I  was  a solid  man.  You 
could throw rocks at  me and it didn't hurt  at all.
I just splintered a little.
       Perhaps  fortunately,   no-one  noticed   and
everything  carried  on  being  normal  and  as  it
should be, all around me.
       But I was frozen.