Askade took the battertoast, looked at it blearily. "I can't rewire it into a death ray without some extra parts," he said, and took a bite. "Hm. Tastes okay. What's the problem?

Raw toast," Lucas said grimly, shaking his head. "It goes against the very nature of man.

Men die. It's practically what they're for.

Sunsets are loved because they vanish.

Flowers are loved because they go.

The dogs of the field and the cats of the kitchen are loved because soon they must depart.

These are not the sole reasons, but at the heart of morning welcomes and afternoon laughters is the promise of farewell. In the gray muzzle of an old dog we see goodbye. In the tired face of an old friend we read long journeys beyond returns.

Here's to a long life, and a merry one; a quick death, and an easy one; a pretty girl, and an honest one; a cold beer - and another one!

Live, die, something else lives. The very soil humanity walks upon is built up from death. Digging into a flowerbed means digging into bones.