“but gentle fate has arranged things so that the sick must beg for excuses before the chronically healthy, and not the other way around; it is the privileged who demand consideration, and not those consigned to their doom. The moribundus is compelled to ask his visitor how he is feeling, and his friend, depositing his gift of a floral wreath – I do not mean Adam Nautilus Rauch specifically, he would never set foot in a hospital – will not hesitate to stand there at the deathbed gabbing about his migraines or his recent dental checkup. Distinctions collapse, existence has no feeling of proportion with regard to death, when your number comes up, it’s best to just slink off without disturbing anybody’s sleep,”