tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4507263173359379133.post762887474416942007..comments2023-11-02T04:54:46.150-07:00Comments on A Shelf of One's Own: Shelf of One's Ownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409081916541324727noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4507263173359379133.post-38356439439540304582013-05-20T13:48:29.499-07:002013-05-20T13:48:29.499-07:00Ah, thanks Ian. I was planning on reading it tonig...Ah, thanks Ian. I was planning on reading it tonight and now it's a sure thing. Shelf of One's Ownhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08409081916541324727noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4507263173359379133.post-82379575783482825852013-04-18T11:24:10.706-07:002013-04-18T11:24:10.706-07:00I have boundless enthusiasm for Montaigne. Read on...I have boundless enthusiasm for Montaigne. Read on. For Montaigne on death, I also suggest you read his final essay, ‘On Experience,’ from vol. 3. This is the one he wrote while practically on his deathbed from complications of kidney stones. It’s quite different in tone, I think. I don’t have the book in front of me, but he essentially concludes that it’s wrong to pretend to despise life the easier to part with it. I love my life, he says; I accept it as a gift, with gratitude to God. With equal gratitude, he says, I let go of my life, because the nature of the gift is that it is temporary. This doesn’t make the gift any less wonderful. <br /><br />Sentiments to live by.<br />Ian Wolcotthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13824138231723753507noreply@blogger.com