Hormones Are Nature's Three Bottles Of Beer.

I Walk Up And Down The Rows. The Heads Look Like Rubber Halloween Masks. They Also Look Like Human Heads, But My Brain Has No Precedent For Human Heads On Tables Or In Roasting Pans Or Anywhere Other Than On Top Of A Human Bodies, And So I Think It Has Chosen To Interpret The Sight In A More Comforting Manner. - Here We Are At The Rubber Mask Factory. Look At The Nice Men And Woman Working On The Masks.

One Young Woman's Tribute Describes Unwrapping Her Cadaver's Hands And Being Brought Up Short By The Realization That The Nails Were Painted Pink. "the Pictures In The Anatomy Atlas Did Not Show Nail Polish", She Wrote. "did You Choose The Color? Did You Think That I Would See It? I Wanted To Tell You About The Inside Of Your Hands. I Want You To Know You Are Always There When I See Patients. When I Palpate An Abdomen, Yours Are The Organs I Imagine. When I Listen To A Heart, I Recall Holding Your Heart.

I Dont Fear Death So Much As I Fear Its Prologues: Loneliness, Decrepitude, Pain, Debilitation, Depression, Senility. After A Few Years Of Those, I Imagine Death Presents Like A Holiday At The Beach.

I Would Have Sold My Wife And Children Into Slavery For A Ride Into Space.

It Would Be Especially Comforting To Believe That I Have The Answer To The Question, What Happens When We Die? Does The Light Just Go Out And That's That-the Million-year Nap? Or Will Some Part Of My Personality, My Me-ness, Persist? What Will That Feel Like? What Will I Do All Day? Is There A Place To Plug In My Laptop?