And I would see her sweet and palpable before me, a shimmering, precious creature soon to grow old, soon to die, soon to lose these moments that in their intangibility promised to us wrongly... wrongly, an immortality. As if it were our very birthright, which we could not come to grasp the meaning of until this time of middle life when we looked on only as many years ahead as already lay behind us. When every moment, every moment must be first known and then savored.

It's always the young ones who end it. The ones for whom mortality holds magic. As we grow older it's eternity that is our boon.

As for oblivion, well, we can wait a little while for that.

All the mortal world is a lethal enemy during those hours between dawn and dusk.

What in hell was mortality? Shitting, pissing, eating, and then the same cycle all over again!

I don't think you can hold in your mind the full conception of what the world is.

Malady of mortality