Someone could have told me then how it would end that it would end too soon and then what need to act it out progress through, scene by scene? We could have spared ourselves the pain, the chore, of facing each old day again. And yet I disagree for everything must end what more can knowledge bring when every minute was itself a minute end and more the stirrings of another hour or day or week? What strength the cry of ending? More treasures fall to those who live the present, its all-continuing beginnings.