history. . . a sort of immortality turned upside down. Her life stretched backwards through ten centuries.
A dog, I have always said, is prose; a cat is a poem.
Prowling his own quiet backyard or asleep by the fire, he is still only a whisker away from the wilds.
I know I am deathless We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.
People adapt. People change. You can grow where you're planted.
All things are subject to decay and when fate summons, monarchs must obey.
We must die to become true human beings.