If dogs don't go to heaven, when I die I want to go wherever they went.
- Will Rogers
How do you know when it's time to sell your boat? When questioned in a radio interview on July 12, 2004 as to why he sold his boat, William F. Buckley, Jr. gave this very astute answer:
“I sold the sailboat as sort of a gradual acknowledgement of the coefficient of work over—uh—against satisfaction. The kind of work you need to do in order to maintain a sailboat to sail it confidently, as I did three times across the Atlantic, one time across the Pacific, is an investment of certain ergs of energy. And—uh—those ergs of energy give you—uh—classically, ergs PLUS pleasure. As that ratio diminishes, an aspect of—oh—age and an aspect of—uh—fatigue with the kind of work that goes into nourishing a sport, gradually, you say to yourself, ‘It’s time to hang it up.’”
-- William F. Buckley, Jr.
|Near this Spot
are deposited the Remains of one
who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferosity,
and all the virtues of Man without his Vices.
This praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
if inscribed over human Ashes,
is but a just tribute to the Memory of
MULDER, a DOG,
who was born in New Castle June 22, 1999
and died in New Castle January 15, 2011.
-- Adapted from Lord Byron's Epitaph to a Dog
Kenneth Arthur Johnsen
1951 - 2018
We were born before the wind,
Also younger than the sun,
Ere the bonnie boat was won,
As we sailed into the mystic.
Hark, now hear the sailor's cry,
Smell the sea and feel the sky,
Let your soul and spirit fly,
As we sail into the mystic.
And when that fog horn blows,
I will be coming home.
And when that fog horn whistle blows,
I want to hear it,
I don't have to fear it.
And I wanna rock your gypsy soul,
Just like way back in the days of old,
And together we will float,
Into the mystic.
--- Van Morrison
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