"Just an instant more. I find it ludicrous and disgraceful that my hands should tremble so - but I can neither stop nor hide it, and, yes, they tremble and that's all. My papers you will destroy, the rubbish you will sweep out, the moth will fly away at night through the broken window, so that nothing of me will remain within these four walls which are already about to crumble. But now dust and oblivion are nothing to me; I feel only one thing - fear, fear, shameful, futile fear..." Actually Cincinnatus did not say all this; he was silently changing his shoes.
Vladimir Nabokov, Invitation to a Beheading (trans. Dmitri Nabokov)











