Petrarch, the Italian poet, died on this day in 1374.
"We are made to be immortal, and yet we die. It's horrible, it can't be taken seriously." -- Eugene Ionesco.
How often had he warmed himself by the fire of fellow feeling, reveled in the commingling of like minds, kindred hearts! At a particular pitch of drunkenness, all men were brothers, and the self slipped away, receded temporarily. The only immortality Sully believed in was just this, the persistence of good will, the community of souls that would outlast heaven and earth, that would live on as a rebuke to the implacable enmity of the cosmos. -- Chapter 15, The Misforgotten.