Some days ago, I read Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, set in the 1700s. In the book, most of the people seem to die young, and illness and death are common motifs. I marvel at how anyone could ever experience so many emotions and live life so richly, knowing that tomorrow, a simple cold might be the harbinger of Death. (The author herself too, died in this manner at the age of thirty).
Having a cold (and a fever, etc) right now, I wonder whether I would have tried to make the most of my life if my illness had been life-threatening. In general, I think that I, and most people nowadays, being assured of short lifespans, tend to squander away their time in a lot of useless activities (like sitting in front of an LCD monitor and typing blog posts? Maybe not..)
I should go get some paracetamol and stop spreading gloom all over the place.
Having a cold (and a fever, etc) right now, I wonder whether I would have tried to make the most of my life if my illness had been life-threatening. In general, I think that I, and most people nowadays, being assured of short lifespans, tend to squander away their time in a lot of useless activities (like sitting in front of an LCD monitor and typing blog posts? Maybe not..)
I should go get some paracetamol and stop spreading gloom all over the place.
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