An old banker lay very ill in bed, when a friend came to visit him.
'Well,' said the latter, 'how are you?'
'How should I be? I'm dying.'
'Nonsense. How old are you?'
'I'm seventy seven already.'
'With God's help you'll live to be ninety.'
'If He can have me at 77, why should he take me at 90?'
-Friday Nite Book
Aways choose life. Always.
Comments