Once in a while, when I'm alone, I think about my age. I think, 'How many more years do I have on this earth?' But I can't really conceive of dying.
My audience is going to die before I do.
I don't want to spend my last few whatever it is, months or years on this earth, giving speeches.
Short is the little which remains to thee of life. Live as on a mountain.
It's hard to feel middle-aged, because how can you tell how long you are going to live?
I probably have another two or three years. Or I can pass tomorrow, but it doesn't make a difference to me.
Our judgements about things vary according to the time left us to live -that we think is left us to live.
The hard part is, of course, the proximity of death. The number has no meaning as long as you're fit and healthy. But you know that you only have so much time left and you don't know how much it is. It could be a very short time.
People say that time slips through our fingers like sand. What they don't acknowledge is that some of the sand sticks to the skin. These are memories that will remain, memories of the time when there was still time left.
