I’m not scared of hell. I lived a decent life, and I don’t think there is such a place, anyway. I’m scared there’s nothing. There was nothing before, we all know that, so doesn’t it stand to reason that there’s nothing after?
“Death is a long process,” Archer says. “Your body is just the first part of you that croaks.” Meaning: beyond that, your dreams have to die. Then your expectations. And your anger about investing a lifetime learning shit and loving people and earning money, only to have all that crap come to basically nothing. Really, your physical body dying is the easy part. Beyond that, your memories must die. And your ego. Your pride and shame and ambition and hope, all that Personal Identity Crap can take centuries to expire.
You can easily judge the character of others by how they treat those who can do nothing for them or to them.
Nothing can substitute for just plain hard work. I had to put in the time to get back. And it was a grind. It meant training and sweating every day. But I was completely committed to working out to prove to myself that I still could do it.
Nothing travels faster than the speed of light with the possible exception of bad news, which obeys its own special laws.