But when I lose my temper, I find it difficult to forgive myself. I feel I've failed. I can be calm in a crisis, in the face of death or things that hurt badly. I don't get hysterical, which may be masochistic of me.

Life is but a moment, death also is but another.

Death unites as well as separates it silences all paltry feeling.

Death not merely ends life, it also bestows upon it a silent completeness, snatched from the hazardous flux to which all things human are subject.

A new idea is delicate. It can be killed by a sneer or a yawn it can be stabbed to death by a quip and worried to death by a frown on the right man's brow.