From At the Center of All Beauty: Solitude and the Creative Life, published this month by W. W. Norton.

When I imagine my death, I do not see myself surrounded by loved ones with music gently playing in the background, in a hospital or a hospice or even in my own room, wherever it may be. I see myself alone. Animals, who are so much wiser than we and who so often know their time to die, do not seek out their owners or playmates or offspring, but find a remote corner or glade where they can accomplish…