Self-glorification

From The Blind Assassin, by Margaret Atwood. (I have fallen in love with her dead accrurate, cuttingly beautiful prose).

'Why is it we want so badly to memorialise ourselves? Even while we're still alive. We wish to assert our existence, like dogs peeing on fire hydrants. We put on display our framed photographs, our parchment diplomas, our silver plated cups; we monogram our linen, we carve our names on tress, we scrawl them on bathroom walls. It's all the same impulse. What do we hope from it? Applause, envy, respect? Or simply attention, of any kind we can get?
At the very least we want a witness. We can't stand the idea of our own voices falling silent finally, like a radio running down.'

Below - evidence of my pride, my delight tinged with sheepishness as I wonder why I want so much to add this link here.
http://www.moe.gov.sg/corporate/contactonline/2006/issue13/sub_BigPicture_Art01.htm