There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed
or that our species ever did anything. There will be no one left to remember Aristotle or Cleopatra, let alone you.
Everything that we did and built and wrote and thought and discovered will be forgotten
and all of this”—I gestured encompassingly—“will have been for naught.
Maybe that time is coming soon and maybe it is millions of years away,
but even if we survive the collapse of our sun, we will not survive forever.
There was time before organisms experienced consciousness, and there will be time after.
And if the inevitability of human oblivion worries you, I encourage you to ignore it.
God knows that’s what everyone else does.” I’d learned this from my aforementioned third best friend,
Peter Van Houten, the reclusive author of An Imperial Affliction,
the book that was as close a thing as I had to a Bible. Peter Van Houten was the only person I’d ever come across
who seemed to (a) understand what it’s like to be dying, and (b) not have died.
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