I shall use my time

I would rather
be ashes than dust!

I would rather
that my spark should burn out
in a brilliant blaze

than it should be stifled by dry-rot.

I would rather
be a superb meteor,

every atom of me
in magnificent glow,

than a sleepy and permanent planet.

The function of man is to live,

not to exist.

I shall not waste my days
trying to prolong them.

I shall use my time.


The above is "said" to be
Jack London's 'Credo'

Good-night, good-night

Warm summer sun, shine kindly here;
Warm southern wind, blow softly here;
Green sod above, lie light, lie light-
Good-night, dear heart, good-night, good-night.

These lines were adapted from a poem by Robert Richardson . . . the original can be found in a little book published in 1893 . . . Willow and Wattle . . .


On this date in our extended collateral family history . . . the 19th day of March . . . in the year 1872 . . . Olivea Susan "Susy" Clemens was born in Elmira, New York . . . 



Susy was a daughter of Samuel Clemens . . . who wrote under the pen name Mark Twain . . . and this Susy is a 4th cousin once removed to Josephine Wingfield Henry nee Davis (1842-1899) . . . who is a 2nd great-grandma to the Keeper of this family history blog . . .


According to a letter written by Miss Daisy Warner, Susy Clemens enjoyed strawberries and ice cream and ladyfingers at her 15th birthday party on the 19th of March in 1887 . . . following Susy's death at the age of 24, her father had the words at the top of this page engraved on her tombstone . . .

When we meet again

Death is nothing at all.

It does not count.

I have only slipped away into the next room.

Nothing has happened.

Everything remains exactly as it was.

I am I, and you are you,

and the old life that we lived so fondly together

is untouched, unchanged.

Whatever we were to each other,

that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.

Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.

Put no difference into your tone.

Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed

at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.

Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word

that it always was.

Let it be spoken without an effort,

without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.

It is the same as it ever was.

There is absolute and unbroken continuity.

What is this death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind

because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you,

for an interval,

somewhere very near,

just round the corner.

All is well.

Nothing is hurt;

nothing is lost.

One brief moment

and all will be as it was before.

How we shall laugh

at the trouble of parting

when we meet again!

Henry Scott Holland

27 January 1847 ~ 17 March 1918