When I think that precisely because my heart transplantation is already 23 years old, it starts to be a little old for a transplanted heart.1 So, maybe I will not live maybe not 10 years, I don’t know, I don’t know. But I think frequently to that, that is — 23 is already long for a heart transplantation, okay, but I don’t — I know that I don’t know anything about what means by anything — out of the fact that I cannot have the representation of a place, because I’m too much a philosopher. I am too much able to say, no, any place belongs to the place of the place, that is the world, there is no place out of the world, because out of the world there is no place.
But, evidently I have somewhere in my unconsciousness, and in my consciousness, I have other ways to represent my presence beyond my death, that is for example of course the books, what I wrote. And the memory of other people, I can say that some people will think about me et cetera. There is a way to — how to say, not to represent, because it is not exactly representation, but I would say maybe more — to touch or to have a sensation, a feeling of my own presence beyond death.2