“I was ten years old when my mother was released from her suffering by death from tuberculosis. She was the first person I ever saw die. The struggle of her dying left a deep impression on me. But I was even more shocked and frightened by my father’s boundless despair: he lifted the long, emaciated body of the dead woman from the bed and, weeping and as if crying out for help, ran around the entire apartment with her. I myself had never thought about Mama’s death.
Rather, I believed that although she might be ill, she would always stay with us. The loss did not fully register with me; I did not understand why so many people felt such pity for me.”

Quotation from Alfred Kubin’s “Erinnerungen” (Memoirs)