And yet, after all, what would this world be without death? It may be
from the fact that we are all victims, from the fact that we are all
bound by common fate; it may be that friendship and love are born of
that fact; but Whatever the fact is, I am perfectly satisfied that
the highest possible philosophy is to enjoy to-day, not regretting
yesterday, and not fearing to-morrow. So, let us suck this orange of
life dry, so that when death does come, we can politely say to him, "You
are welcome to the peelings. What little there was we have enjoyed."
But there is one splendid thing about the play called Life. Suppose that
when you die, that is the end. The last thing that you will know is
that you are alive, and the last thing that will happen to you is the
curtain, not falling, but the curtain rising on another thought, so
that as far as your consciousness is concerned you will and must live
forever. No man can remember when he commenced, and no man can remember
when he ends. As far as we are concerned we live both eternities,
the one past and the one to come, and it is a delight to me to feel
satisfied, and to feel in my own heart, that I can never be certain that
I have seen the faces I love for the last time.
When I am at such a gathering as this, I almost wish I had had the
making of the world. What a world I would have made! In that world
unhappiness would have been the only sin; melancholy the only crime;
joy the only virtue. And whether there is another world, nobody knows.
Nobody can affirm it; nobody can deny it. Nobody can collect tolls from
me, claiming that he owns a turnpike, and nobody can certainly say that
the crooked path that I follow, beside which many roses are growing,
does not lead to that place. He doesn't know. But if there is such a
place, I hope that all good fellows will be welcome.