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Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: epicure who wrote (55276)	8/27/2000 3:19:04 PM
From: Gauguin	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

I don't think these "types" of people are relevant to the age of the person. I agree that most people, regardless of age and condition, want to live ~ and just want, as you said, a better physical option to be able to do so. But there are stones at the bottom who don't care. Or have other cares. Even their bodies will fight to live ~ because the body has a separate mind. ("Separate", you might say. Primitive, interior, physical, established, endowed, reflexive. "Body" comes with it.) Gotta go! Just shoot me.

To: epicure who wrote (55276)	8/27/2000 8:25:08 PM
From: JF Quinnelly	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

Is this a favorite of yours?: DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so, For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow, Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee, Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee doe goe, Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie. Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell, And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well, And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then; One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die. John Donne

To: epicure who wrote (55276)	8/27/2000 8:29:07 PM
From: JF Quinnelly	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

And what about this one: Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, less, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. by Dylan Thomas