On this day I will pay my respects to Epictetus by carrying with me a gentle reminder: Every person I see today, including the man in the mirror, is going to die soon.
All human relationships are temporary, even as we ourselves are temporary. There is probably an unwritten rule preventing clerics from mentioning this during marriage ceremonies. To them befalls, “What God has joined together…”
If it weren’t for endings, we’d be swallowed whole by an irremediable boredom.
Let us view the span of our years through the lens of time-lapse photography—and in that corybantic kinesis, in the sudden rising and falling of things, have it made plain: No-thing lasts.
When his son died, Emerson looked hard at grief. He later recalled it as a shallow emotion, depthless and unreal. No stoic lives far from the fact that we are born to die.