It is not that we have so little time but that we lose so much. … The life we receive is not short but we make it so; we are not ill provided but use what we have wastefully.

— Seneca, On the Shortness of Life

I feel certain that somewhere very near here–the first house down the road maybe–there’s a good poet dying, but also somewhere very near here somebody’s having a hilarious pint of pus taken from her lovely young body, and I can’t be running back and forth forever between grief and high delight.

–J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey