Because we don't know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everthing happen only a certain number of times and a small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that's so deeply a part of your being, that you even conceive of your life without it? Childhood, afternoons, lingering things in your life, how many can you recall this afternoon? Perhaps four or five times more. Perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps 20. How many times have you seen the full moon rise in your life? Maybe twenty times And yet it all seems limitless. But people think everything can be squandered
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