Happy are they whom privacy makes innocent, who deal so with men in this world, that they are not afraid to meet them in the next, who when they die, make no commotion among the dead.
~ Sir Thomas Browne, Hydriotaphia, or Urne-Buriall
A beatitude of anonymity. I am torn, day to day, between the comical lust for my name to live on the lips of future generations (for what accomplishments, I don’t know), and the more comfortable ambition of passing unremarked into death and fertilizing some convenient tree. I like most trees better than I like most people.