Because we do not know when we will die we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. and yet everthing happens only a certain number of times and a very small number really. how many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, an afternoon that is so deeply a part of your being that you cannot conceive of your life without it? perhaps four or five times more? perhaps not even that. how many more times will you watch the full moon rise? perhaps twenty. yet it all seems limitless
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