There is an eagle in me that wants to soar, and there is a hippopotamus in me that wants to wallow in the mud - Carl Sandburg

Death comes once, let it be easy.

His books were part of him. Each year of his life, it seemed, his books became more and more a part of him. This room, thirty by twenty feet, and the walls of shelves filled with books, had for him the murmuring of many voices. In the books of Herodotus, Tacitus, Rabelais, Thomas Browne, John Milton, and scores of others, he had found men of face and voice more real to him than many a man he had met for a smoke and a talk.

A tough will counts. So does desire.
So does a rich soft wanting.
Without rich wanting nothing arrives.