Thoughts of an unsuccessful, never married, late middle-aged, likely terminally ill American man.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
A New Year
The years go so fast. Then you look at how many you've lived and it's such a small number. The total number is tiny and the number at the end, the number which shrivels and kills, is smaller still. Yet we live as if the supply of time is indefinite, which it is, of course, but not for us. Time is bottomless only for itself.