There will come a time when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed or that our species ever did anything. There will be no one left to remember Aristotle or Cleopatra, let alone you. Everything that we did and built and wrote and thought and discovered will be forgotten and all of this will have been for naught. Maybe that time is coming soon and maybe it is millions of years away, but even if we survive the collapse of our sun, we will not survive forever. There was time before organisms experienced consciousness, and there will be time after. And if the inevitability of human oblivion worries you, I encourage you to ignore it. God knows that’s what everyone else does.
Disappearing can be quite the coping mechanism for those of us who fear abandonment the very most of all. If we disappear, you have to find us. You're the one who worries. We know where we are, but you can't leave me. I'm in charge and doing the leaving. Not the other way around.
To worry is a sin. Only one sort of worry is permissible; to worry because one worries.
We have to fight them daily, like fleas, those many small worries about the morrow, for they sap our energies.
I've always believed in writing without a collaborator, because where two people are writing the same book, each believes he gets all the worries and only half the royalties.
If the inevitability of human oblivion worries you, I encourage you to ignore it.
I've had a lot of worries in my life, most of which never happened.