With all our perverse nonsense as to John Smith living for a thousand million eons and for ever after, we die voluntarily, knowing that it is time for us to be scrapped, to be remanufactured, to come back, as Wordsworth divined, trailing ever brightening clouds of glory.  We must all be born again,

and yet again and again.  We should like to live a little longer just as we should like 50 pounds:  that is, we should take it if we could get it for nothing; but that sort of idle liking is not will.