I also feel a little funny about it, that I'm done with this now, that I still have the books to read but there aren't any more boxes of them coming. That what's here is what there is. The sheer finity of death is part of what bothers me. It's one thing to know that something like a life or a library is finite and another thing to come smack up against it personally.
For you Diana Wynne Jones fans: apparently what Christopher Chant does when he's not being Chrestomanci is write books about zeppelins. Not the least appropriate thing in the world, I fancy.