My illness is alive, the threats to my life are real; yet it is only my death I feel, only the lessening made by my own loss. I am gone, Kohler, right now; and who is so dead as one so dead to a moment of life that life can't raise him up? Not to be here, not to see tomorrow-which, when I see it I shall find as stupid and empty as I found today-is appalling, Kohler, appalling... to slip into the insignificance of history like a thought held in a dream...