“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