The man who lies asleep will never waken fame, and his desire and all his life drift past him like a dream, and the traces of his memory fade from time like smoke in air, or ripples on a stream.
What if we're all like that? Like ghosts. . . in someone's mind. . . gradually fading. . . fading. . . until finally. . . one day. . . we just disappear. . . drift into nothingness. Wouldn't that be sad?