I am at the end of my thirty-fifth year; the 'middle of life' they have called it now for a millennium and a half. Dante had his vision during this period; he speaks of it in the opening lines of his poem. And now in the very midst of life I am so 'surrounded by death' that it could seize me at any hour. Given the nature of my illness, I am forced to think of a sudden death, due to convulsions (although I would a hundred times prefer a slow, lucid death, during which one could still speak to friends, even if it should be a more painful one). Thus I now feel like the most ancient of men, also in the sense that I have fulfilled my life's work. a good drop of oil has been pressed from me, I know, and they will not forget that about me ... 

Nietzsche, letter to Koeslitz, September 11th 1879