Zeno of Citium strangled himself, W. says. Imagine it! Of course, he was already an old man. He felt he'd missed his appointment with death. It had come, but he hadn't had been ready. So he brought death to him.
And what about us? Should we strangle ourselves? Should I strangle W., and W. me? But that's just it: death doesn't want us. It isn't our time, and it'll never be our time. If we die, it will be from some stupid accident, the most absurd of illnesses, an ingrowing toenail, for example. It will never be a matter of our integrity, of some act of martyrdom. We'll die for nothing, for no purpose. How could we presume to take our own lives?
Lars Iyer's Blog 