“Then, are you not afraid of death?” I pursued.

“Afraid? No!” he replied. “ I have neither a fear, nor a presentiment, nor a hope of death. Why should I? With my hard constitution and temperate mode of living, and unperilous occupations, I ought to, and probably shall remain above ground, till there is scarcely a black hair on my head. And yet I cannot continue in this condition! I have to remind myself to breathe – almost to remind my heart to beat! And it is like bending back a stiff spring – it is by compulsion that I do the slightest act not prompted by one thought, and by compulsion, that I notice anything alive or dead, which is not associated with one universal idea. I have a single wish, and my whole being and faculties are yearning to attain it. They have yearned towards it so long, and so unwaveringly, that I’m convinced it will be reached – and soon – because it has devoured my existence; I am swallowed in the anticipation of its fulfillment. My confessions have not relieved me, but they may account for some otherwise unaccountable phases of humour which I show. O, God! It is a long fight. I wish it were over!”

an excerpt from one of my favorite books: Wuthering Heights.