There are 1000 ways to die, but there is only one way to live. There are many ways to quit life, but only one way to remain in it; and that way lies the entrance to it. There are 1000 ways to die and to quit. And the Mausoleum of the Sick Who Thought They Were Well is filled with demoniac statues of quitters and busts of the dead; every hall and alcove displaying a mockery of humanity frozen in motion. In one stares the crazy face of the hedonist who quit life to pose for a dance of stone. In another lay the unconscious and the suicidal sleepers on beds of alabaster; eyes shut against the day to trick the moon to stay against her will. And in the center, his pedestal towering above the rest, stands the tyrant; one mighty hand upon his brother, the Stoic; the other on his son, the Rational Man; three grim faces set in marble; three pale shadows facing the darkness; devoid of light, each quits life to fight death.