At the door I stood on a chair and overlooked the crowd of potential
skeletons. In eighty years the lot of us would be dead. We lived,
having no choice, as if that were not so, as if we were not alone,
as if there would not come a moment when each of us would see that
our lives were over, that we were driving wihtout brakes towards
a brick wall.
Hanif Kureishi, The Buddha of Suburbia, 1990
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