may have killed the cat; more likely
the cat was just unlucky, or else curious
to see what death was like, having no cause
to go on licking paws, or fathering
litter on litter of kittens, predictably.

And what cats have to tell
on each return from hell
is this: that dying is what the living do,
that dying is what the loving do,
and that dead dogs are those who do not know
that dying is what, to live, each has to do.

Children are entitled to their otherness, as anyone is; and when we reach them, as we sometimes do, it is generally on a point of sheer delight, to us so astonishing, but to them so natural

The death of this British soldier in Iraq deeply saddens me. All our thoughts and sympathies are with the family at this very difficult time.

The saddest death I think that happens in a persons life, is not the one that happens in old age, no its the one when the child in them dies, when the world no longer inspires curiosity and wonder, when the world ceases to have magic. That is when I truly think we begin to die, not the one of old age, for that is merely the last scene in a play that has long since been in its final act.

So here is one of my theories on happiness: we cannot know if we have lived a truly happy life until the very end. This view of life and death was reinforced by my close witnessing of the buildup to the death of Philip Gould. Philip was without doubt my closest friend in politics. When he died, I felt like I had lost a limb.