A man once told me that if you're going to live life, live it to its fullest. A life unlived is a not life at all, he said to me, his deep blue eyes trembling as he took a sip from a glass of water held up by me. The world isn't fair, I say as I place the glass back onto the hospital tray. What do you expect it to be? It's been this way for about two thousand years. And as stubborn as it is, I doubt it's gonna change for just one man like me, he says. You can sit there complaining how crappy life is and waste away all those gifts and talents you've got. Get out there and live life. Put up one hell of fight before the bell tolls for you. There's no sense in living a life half-lived. This poem I read by this guy named Dylan Thomas or Thomas Dylan, whatever his name was I can't remember, but he talked about not going gentle into that good night. That's what I want you to do, son. Rage, rage against the dying of the light, that poet wrote, that's how you should live life, he says watching my every movement as he laid on the hospital bed.