Resting on your laurels is as dangerous as resting when you are walking in the snow. You doze off and die in your sleep.
Of these years nought remains in memory but the sad feeling that we have advanced and only grown older.
The inexorable compulsion of all things is towards health or destruction, life or death, and we hasten our joys or our woes to the logical extreme. It is urgent, therefore, that we be joyous if we wish to live.
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