Up on the Brooklyn Bridge a man is standing in agony, waiting to jump, or waiting to write a poem, or waiting for the blood to leave his vessels because if he advances another foot the pain of his love will kill him.

The man who does ill, ill must suffer too.

A man awaits his end
Dreading and hoping all;
Many times he died,
Many times rose again

A man who fears suffering is already suffering from what he fears.

The worst that can possibly have happened to him is death and that we are all in for — -if not this morning, then in days, or weeks, or years at most.

Nor dread nor hope attend
A dying animal;
A man awaits his end
Dreading and hoping all.

Man will live ill who will not know how to die well.

Confounded, though immortal. But his doom, reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought both of lost happiness and lasting pain torments him.

He who fears he shall suffer, already suffers what he fears.

He is terribly afraid of dying because he hasn’t yet lived.

May he perish, inch by inch, within reach of the aid that shall never come, ere the God of the poor take him into his hand.

Somewhere, a young man wallows in his suffering - his wound so deep he cannot draw a distinction between love and destruction. When he fights, he wounds his adversary like a fighter in search of victory.

He who fears he will suffer, already suffers from his fear.

He was dying all his life.