And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud.
Walt WhitmanAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: american
- Born: May 31, 1819
- Died: March 26, 1892
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My peak? Would I even have one? I hardly had had anything you could call a life. A few ripples. some rises and falls. But that's it. Almost nothing. Nothing born of nothing. I'd loved and been loved, but I had nothing to show. It was a singularly plain, featureless landscape. I felt like I was in a video game. A surrogate Pacman, crunching blindly through a labyrinth of dotted lines. The only certainty was my death.
Haruki Murakami