On the Feeling

On the Feeling
No young man believes he shall4gb usb flash driveever die. It was a saying of my brother’s, and a fine one. There is a feeling of Eternity in youth, which makes us amend for everything. To be young is to beWorld of Warcraft Goldas one of the Immortal Gods. One half of time indeed is flown-the other half remains in store for us with all its countless treasures; for there is no line drawn, and we see no limit to our hopes and wishes. We make the coming age our own -- The vast, the unbounded prospectwow power levelinglies before us
Death. old age. are words without a meaning. that pass by us like the idea air which we regard not. Others may have undergone, or may still be liable to them-we "bear ajordn shoescharmed life”, which laughs to scorn all such sickly fancies. As in setting out on delightful journey, we strain our eager gaze forward- Bidding the lovely scenes at distance hail!-and see no end to the landscape, new objects presenting themselves as we advance; so, in the commencement of life, we set no boundscustom made suitsto our inclinations. nor to the unrestricted opportunities of gratifying them. we have as yet found no obstacle, no disposition to flag; and it seems that we can go on so forever. We look round in aCentrifugal fannew world, full of life, and motion, and ceaseless progress; and feel in ourselves all the vigor and spirit to keep pace with it, and do not foresee from any present symptoms how we shall be left behind in the natural course of things, decline into old age, and drop into the grave. It is the simplicity, and as it were abstractedness of our feelings in youth, that (so to speak) identifies us with nature, and (our experience beingTelescopic Boom liftsslight and our passions strong) deludes us into a belief of being immortal like it. Our short-lives connection with existence we fondly flatter ourselves, is an indissoluble and lasting union-a honeymoon that knows neither coldness, jar, nor separation. As infants smile and sleep, we are rocked in the cradle of our wayward fancies, and lulled into security by the roar ofbronze lionthe universe around us. we quaff the cup of life with eager haste without draining it, instead of which it only overflows the more objects press around us, filling the mind with their magnitude and with the strong of desires that wait upon them, so that we have no room for the thoughtswow accountof death.
assured us that with treatment he would be able to walk normally - but would never run very well. The first three years of his life were spent in surgery, casts and braces. By the time he was eight, you wouldn't know he had a problem when you saw him walk.
The children in our neighborhood ran around asdancing fountainmost children do during play, and Joey would jump right in and run and play, too. We never told him that he probably wouldn't be able to run as well as the other children. So he didn't know.
In seventh grade he decided to go out for the cross-country team. Every day he trained with the team. Hetapping screwworked harder and ran more than any of the others - perhaps he sensed that the abilities that seemed to come naturally to so many others did not come naturally to him. Although the entire team runs, only the top seven runners have the potential to score points for the school. We didn't tell him he probably would never make the team, so he didn't know.
He continued to run four to five miles a day, every day - even the day he had a 103-degree fever. I was worried, so I went to look for him after school. I found him running all alone. I asked him how he felt. "Okay," he said. He had two more miles to go. The sweat ran down his face and his eyes were glassy from his fever. Yet heseo serviceslooked straight ahead and kept running. We never told him he couldn't run four miles with a 103-degree fever. So he didn't know.