Everything comes to an end. A good bottle of wine, a summer's day, a long-running sitcom, one's life and eventually our species. The question for many is not that everything will come to an end, but when, and can we do anything vaguely useful until it does?
In the case of a good bottle of wine, probably not much - although the very act of consumption might make one believe otherwise. A well-lazed summer's day should not expect too much of itself either, and sitcoms never die. They simply move to a zombie-like existence in repeat heaven.

(Jasper Fforde, The Woman who died a lot, 2012)

This is a story about madness.

(Jon Ronson, The Psychopath Test, 2011)

My daughter killed me Tuesday morning.

(Dave Smeds, "Suicidal Tendencies", 1993, aus "Embracing the Starlight", 2003)

I hadn't been shot at in a while, and no one had hit me in the head for a whole month or two. It was a kind of record, and I was starting to feel special.

(Joe R. Lansdale, Vanilla Ride, 2009)

It begins, as most things begin, with a song.
In the beginning, after all, were the words, and they came with a tune. That was how the world was made, how the void was divided, how the lands and the stars and the dreams and the little gods and the animals, how all of them came into the world.
They were sung.

(Neil Gaiman, Anansi Boys, 2005)

"The only sin is selfishness. So said the good Doctor."

(Iain M. Banks, Inversions, 1998)

This is the story of a man who went away for a long time, just to play a game. The man is a game player called 'Gurgeh'. The story starts with a battle that is not a battle, and ends with a game that is not a game.

(Aus: The Player of Games, Iain M. Banks, 1988)