There was a time in my demented youth
        When somehow I suspected that the truth
        About survival after death was known
        To every human being: I alone
        Knew nothing, and a great conspiracy
        Of books and people hid the truth from me.

        There was the day when I began to doubt
        Man's sanity: How could he live without
        Knowing for sure what dawn, what death, what doom
        Awaited consciousness beyond the tomb?

V. Nabokov. "Pale Fire"