“Death is a privilege of the living. A destiny without reason, continually roving on, evermore. How fleeting a thing it is. One cannot live and forget about death. The despair that is me, forgotten by death, can at least embrace my yearning at twilight, and sleep.”
“Me? A liar? That's almost hurtful. I just don't feel like telling the whole truth.”
“Everyone thinks at some point if what they are doing has any meaning or not. Will the day come when I get what's coming to me, or not? How much influence does my existence have on the world at all, or doesn't it?”