My dear,
My neighbour is a hundred and one years old. She’s never smoked a day in her life.
She’s never spent a whole week inside her house with a loved one having wondrous sex. She’s never ran naked on a beach in the middle of the night while the sea lapsed at her toes. She’s never feasted on swine and cheese until her clothes begged for air. And she’s never jumped out of airplanes or boats (for fear of blood-rush).
In fact her life was and is pretty dull.
You can live to be a hundred if you give up all the things that make you want to live to be a hundred.
I ask you, what’s the point of being a hundred [and one] if you don’t experience life on the way? Are we here to try to outlive all the people around us? Or are we here to snatch the most out of life and die in the process of doing so?
I suspect the latter.
Falsely yours,
Woody Allen
