Because we do not know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhuastable well. And yet everything happens only a certain numberr of times, and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood? An afternoon that is so deeply a part of your being that you can't even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more? Perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perpaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless.