Henceforth he was never able to interest himself in private affairs.

Many times he made the attempt to continue writing, but found it useless.

Until then he had lived the life of a man in middle life--and a young one at that--golfing, fishing, swimming each day, sometimes doing all three in one day.
Optimist as he always was and tried to be, even in the face of the failure of his hopes, the world disaster was too much.

His heart was broken.

A severe attack of influenza followed by two serious attacks of pneumonia precipitated old age upon him.
It was said of a contemporary who passed away a few months before Mr.
Carnegie that "he never could have borne the burden of old age." Perhaps the most inspiring part of Mr.Carnegie's life, to those who were privileged to know it intimately, was the way he bore his "burden of old age." Always patient, considerate, cheerful, grateful for any little pleasure or service, never thinking of himself, but always of the dawning of the better day, his spirit ever shone brighter and brighter until "he was not, for God took him." Written with his own hand on the fly-leaf of his manuscript are these words: "It is probable that material for a small volume might be collected from these memoirs which the public would care to read, and that a private and larger volume might please my relatives and friends.