And are you then indispensible, my lord? All men are mortal; even those who will rank themselves the most important must turn to dust, yielding their post to yet another rival who will rise and follow them and then also leave this world to another being empty of soul. So many of you who have reached the summit of your dream, achieving all you so dearly wanted now find, to your dismay, you are but one of so many miniscule unimportant and totally interchangeable nonentities. Ah, you disagree? You insist you are no nonentity? You are so, so important, are you? Then where, my lord, just where are all those willing servants, once at your beck and call? Where are all those fawning minions, once so eager to fulfil your slightest wish, however trivial? Is there one who will now reach down and help you rise from the dust? No, my lord. You need but to look around you. We are here, you and I. And this mighty hall is empty of all but us. Icy echoes throw back your empty boastful words. For one so important, why so alone, so friendless now? Yes, you know who you are, and where you are, and when you are - but did you ever know just WHY you are? And for all your great words and gestures - just what have you done in this world that can be reckoned worthy of being remembered? How many people will remember who YOU were when but a few dozen years have passed after your body has turned to dust? What is one man among the thousands of millions now on this Earth? Even if he be the most high-ranking who has ever existed - he is but one man; he is nothing; he too will die. One man, my lord, is damn all. And the Shades will claim him for their own ...