The Past Beats Inside Me Like A

Perhaps All Of Life Is No More Than A Long Preparation For The Leaving Of It.

I'm Full Of Self-doubt. I Doubt Everything I Do. Everything I Do Is A Failure.

It's Great People Still Care About Books, And It's Great You Can Still Fashion A Life From Literature.

He Knows That After Him Everything Will Continue On Much As Before, Except That There Will Be A Minuscule Absence, A Barely Detective Gap In The So-called Grand Scheme, One Unit Fewer Now. Or Not Even That, Not Even An Empty Space Where He Once Was, For All Will Rush Immediately To Fill That Vacuum. Pft. Gone. Recollections Of Him Will Remain In The Minds Of Others For A While, But Presently Those Others Too Will Die And His Few Relics With Them. And Then All Will Be Dark.

If I Was Asked To Say What Was The Greatest Invention Of Human Beings, I Would Say The Sentence.