"The burning conviction that we have a holy duty toward others is often a way of attaching our drowning selves to a passing raft."

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When we are old and these rejoicing veins Are frosty channels to a muted stream, And out of all our burning there remains No feeblest spark to fire us, even in dream, This be our solace: that it was not said When we were young and warm and in our prime, Upon our couch we lay as lie the dead, Sleeping away the unreturning time.

— Edna St. Vincent Millay