There are many ways to die. You could be impaled by a swordfish, brained by a coconut or crushed under a falling pile of coffins at your mortuary business. You could eat yourself to death like King Adolf Frederick of Sweden, or you could drink a lethal amount of carrot juice. You might put an industrial firework on your forehead and light the fuse, or die of laughter like the Stoic philosopher Chrysippus. You could get a fatal shot to the balls by a tennis ball at the U.S. Open, like lineman Dirk Wertheim. Or you could read a premature obituary for yourself and suffer a fatal stroke like the Jamaican political activist Marcus Garvey. No matter how slapstick, though, how you die matters much less than how you live.

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