Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, to

"Never measure the height of a mountain, until you have reached the top. Then you will see how low it was," Dag Hammarskjold, 1925-1930. "Markings" is a book that once was on every person's shelf. I would venture to say that it still is. The sad part is that most people have not even looked at it. After you open it you immediately are swept into the thoughts of someone who died many years ago. This man lived in another generation, in different times, but his thoughts on life