a highschool English teacher taught me, with a single dramatic act, the futility of rehashing the past. As the students fled into her classroom, we noticed on her desk a quart bottle of milk standing in a heavy stone Crock This morning, "she announced, "I' m going to teach you a lesson that has nothing to do with English, but a lot to do with life. She picked up the bottle of milk, crashed it against the inside of the stone crock, and it splintered into small pieces."The lesson is, she said, "dont cry over spilled milk. She invited us to look at the wreckage "Would any of you attempt to restore the bottle to its original form? Does it do any goodto. wish the bottle had not been broken? Does it help to tellyourselfhow good the milk might have tasted if this hadnt happened? Remember this broken bottle of milk when something happens in your life that nothing can undo. how to grow old Some old people are oppressed by the fear of death. In the young there is a justification for this feeling. Young men who have reason to fear that they will be killed in battle may justifiably feel bitter in the thought that they have been cheated of the best things that life has to offer. But in an old man who has known human joys and sorrows, and has achieved whatever work it was in him to do, the fear of death is somewhat abject and ignoble. The best way to overcome it-so at least it seems to me-is to make your interests gradually wider and more impersonal, until bit by bit the walls of the ego recede, and your life becomes increasingly merged in the universal life. An individual human existence should be like a river-small at first, narrowly contained within its banks, and rushing passionately past rocks and over waterfalls. gradually the river grown wider, the banks recede, the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible break, they become merged in the sea, and painlessly lose their individual being The man who, in old see his life in this way, will not suffer from the fear of death, since the things he car will continue. And if, with the decay of vitality, weariness increases, the thought of rest will not be unwelcome. I should wish to die while still at work, knowing that others will carry on what I can no onger do, and content in the thought that what was possible has been done. Why I am glad to Be 40 I like the vantage point that middle age gives you over all other ages-the young don nderstand the old and the old can' t fathom the young but the middle aged can be in touch with both. I find it exhilarating to be a go betweens. But who can enjoy looking in a mirror and seeing crows feet and lines and all the other revages of middle age? This aspect of middle age is certainly the hardest to accept-but only if you are determined to cling to illusion. For myself, and for millions of others, the loss of youthful beauty is nothing to mourn. It was never there in the first place. Moreover, when you are middle aged nobody has to tell you that beauty alone isnt everything looking around you can see that it isnt. You know that you d prefer wit and interest and intelligence; you have your own experience of men and women who may be thought ugly but whom you prefer to the simply beautiful I find that there isn' t a single shred of jealousy in me for all the beautiful young ladiesmyself: I think they all look fantastic and they have nothing what soever to do with humpbacked bridge: you'vetoiled up and you nish oyable time. It's like being on top of Halfway through anything is always the most en going to stagger down, but for the moment you re on a plateau with the view of alla highschool English teacher taught me，with a single dramatic act，the futility of rehashing the past. As the students fled into her classroom，we noticed on her desk a quart bottle of milk standing in a heavy stone Crock.  "This morning,”she announced, “I’m going to teach you a lesson that has nothing to do with English，but a lot to do with life.” She picked up the bottle of milk，crashed it against the inside of the stone crock，and it splintered into small pieces. “The lesson is,” she said, “don't cry over spilled milk.”  She invited us to look at the wreckage. “Would any of you attempt to restore the bottle to its original form? Does it do any goodto.wish the bottle had not been broken？Does it help to tellyourselfhow good the milk might have tasted if this hadn't happened? Remember this broken bottle of milk when something happens in your life that nothing can undo.”  How to Grow Old Some old people are oppressed by the fear of death. In the young there is a justification for this feeling. Young men who have reason to fear that they will be killed in battle may justifiably feel bitter in the thought that they have been cheated of the best things that Life has to offer. But in an old man who has known human joys and sorrows, and has achieved whatever work it was in him to do, the fear of death is somewhat abject and ignoble. The best way to overcome it—so at least it seems to me—is to make your interests gradually wider and more impersonal, until bit by bit the walls of the ego recede, and your life becomes increasingly merged in the universal life. An individual human existence should be like a river—small at first, narrowly contained within its banks, and rushing passionately past rocks and over' waterfalls. Gradually the river grown wider, the banks recede, the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible break, they become merged in the sea, and painlessly lose their individual being. The man who, in old age, can see his life in this way，will not suffer from the fear of death，since the things he care for will continue. And if, with the decay of vitality, weariness increases, the thought of rest will not be unwelcome. I should wish to die while still at work, knowing that others will carry on what I can no longer do，and content in the thought that what was possible has been done.  Why I Am Glad to Be 40 I like the vantage point that middle age gives you over all other ages—the young don’t understand the old and the old can’t fathom the young but the middle aged can be in touch with both. I find it exhilarating to be a go betweens.  But who can enjoy looking in a mirror and seeing crow’s feet and lines and all the other revages of middle age? This aspect of middle age is certainly the hardest to accept—but only if you are determined to cling to illusion. For myself，and for millions of others，the loss of youthful beauty is nothing to mourn.. It was never there in the first place. Moreover，when you are middle aged nobody has to tell you that beauty alone isn’t everything—looking around you can see that it isn’t. You know that you’d prefer wit and interest and intelligence; you have your own experience of men and women who may be thought ugly but whom you prefer to the simply beautiful.  I find that there isn’t a single shred of jealousy in me for all the beautiful young ladiesmyself; I think they all look fantastic and they have nothing whatsoever to do with me.  Halfway through anything is always the most enjoyable time. It’s like being on top of a humpbacked bridge：you'vetoiled up and you might be going to stagger down, but for the moment you’re on a plateau with the view of all