“For the young the days go fast and the years go slow; for the old the days go slow and the years go fast.”

Anna Quindlen

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“I'm fine," she said. But her smile was bleak, without light or warmth. And for the first time I thought of what it must be like to know that you were going to die, that the trees would bud, flower, leaf, dry, die, and you would not be there to see any of it.”