You know, I’m pretty tired of “immortality makes you an conscienceless dick unable to relate to other people” thing. It’s bargain basement existentialism, and (infuriatingly) is often put in the mouths of characters that don’t fucking die themselves.

The opposite—culmulative, compounding pain at the recognition of transience, because most people don’t live long enough to notice the pattern…leading in turn to deep appreciation of connections and moments—is just as compelling a possibility.