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kyleppuccino 's review for:
The Death of Ivan Ilych
by Leo Tolstoy
There is something physical in reading about death. I felt weak and would try to feel my body as it is during moments of sickness or the discussion of death that makes you grateful for your health. Oh, how much more painful it is for someone to be tethered at the cliff of death like you, Ivan Ilych? Someday, I may also groan at the acute pain of my kidney, see the hollow darkness around my eyes, of my head almost sculpted like a skull, of my emaciated body. I would soon look at the vigor of someone in their 20s, like Gerasim, with both amazement and jealousy. How scary death is.