Little fly, Thy summers play My thoughtless hand Has brushed away. Am not I A fly like thee? Or art not though A man like me? For I dance And drink and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing. – William Blake Songs of experience – 1795 Thank you Tarquin.
…but our machines have now been running for seventy or eighty years, and we must expect that, worn as they are, here a pivot, there a wheel, now a pinion, next a spring, will be giving way: and however we may tinker them up for awhile, all will at length surcease motion.
From Seneca: I will not relinquish old age if it leaves my better part intact. But if it begins to shake my mind, if it destroys its faculties one by one, if it leaves not life but breath, I will depart from the putrid and tottering edifice. I will not escape death so long as … More Depart the tottering edifice
From BBC Global Perspective Documentary Archive: Every year up to 20 people die completely alone in Amsterdam. There are no friends or family to prepare their funeral or mourn over the body. Sometimes these people are illegal migrants, drug mules, or simply people who for one reason or another, cut off all social contacts. A … More Goodbye Stranger