Shrines of Gaiety

by Kate Atkinson

Life was for absorbing, not recording. And in the end, it was all just paper that someone would have to dispose of after you were gone. Perhaps, after all, one’s purpose in this world was to be forgotten, not remembered.

It was undignified to be on show like this. That was the thing about hospitals, anyone could wander into your room and gawp at you when you were at your very lowest, your most unflattering.