Saturn, whose name in the heavens is Lurga, stood in the Blue
Room. His spirit lay upon the house, or even on the whole Earth, with a cold
pressure such as might flatten the very orb of Tellus to a wafer. Matched
against the lead-like burden of his antiquity the other gods themselves perhaps
felt young and ephemeral. It was a mountain of centuries sloping up from the
highest antiquity we can conceive, up and up like a mountain whose summit never
comes into sight, not to eternity where the thought can rest, but into more and
still more time, into freezing wastes and silence of unnameable numbers. It was
also strong like a mountain; its age was no mere morass of time where
imagination can sink in reverie, but a living, self-remembering duration which
repelled lighter intelligences from its structure as granite flings back waves,
itself unwithered and undecayed but able to wither any who approach it
unadvised...
C.S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength, Chapter 15: Descent
of the Gods (1945)
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