Life becomes death

...and it is as if death has owned this life all along.

That's from the first para of The Invention of Solitude by Paul Auster.

I found it via amazon.com and reproduce the first para through a screen-shot below.

Also, found this very interesting statement in a comment by someone called Lyn Bann at the amazon.com link.

The task of writing has no ultimate goal; life itself is full of hollow spaces, so why would we want to transcribe it into a work of art? ....... Reading, writing and living are all part of the same ludicrous, meaningless wandering.