“Tomorrow I will die in battle,” said Captain Crow.
Montaigne wrote that death itself is nothing. It is only the fear of death that makes death seem
important. Am I afraid? Certainly, and yet . . .
“Que sais-je?” Montaigne asked. The answer is nothing. In reality, I know nothing.
And yet, at night I lie on my bed, counting my beads, one for every thing on earth I love, on and on,
in a circle without end.
– Tale For The Time Being, Ruth Ozeki