We reach the end of our lives long before we reach the end of ourselves.

Something will kill me someday but until then I'm swimming in ambrosia.

The death of joy is the real death,

The death of joy is the real death.

Something will kill me eventually but until then I'm swimming in ambrosia.

Art is born of the concrete struggle with life and death.

This is what protects us from death: that something so real can seem so unreal.

Like it or not, we're stuck with these bodies. We can't even die without them.

Time is always chipping away at our dreams. At the moment of death loss becomes complete.