It is one-hundred-percent certain that you will lose the very last battle you fight in your life. That is because the enemy is death. And she is inevitable. No matter what the causes and issues, medical, political, or romantical, you don’t stand a chance. That old witch with the scythe and her bony grin will reap away your precious spark, and you will have lost the last battle of the war to stay alive.
People, no matter what their religion, no matter how many times they’ve said their, “Hail, Marys,” no matter how many times they’ve sincerely prayed in the way recommended by the church elders, no matter what miracles they believe will happen, they can’t overcome the facts of physics, biology, history, and science to make what they believe will happen really happen.
As far as I am aware, no monkey at a typewriter has ever written a single line of a Shakespearean play,
And nothing can change the world before your eyes so fast as making a simple change in your point of view.
Catch a Falling Star 
I have always thought of death as a cute freckle-faced lady.
That’s good. I like that better than Marvel Comics’ idea of the lady Grim Reaper who is Thanos’s girlfriend. I have played chess with the Reaper a couple of times already. She’s a sucker for a King’s Bishop Gambit. But I never yet got to see her face.
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