Death never takes the wise man by surprise, he is always ready to

“Death never takes the wise man by surprise, he is always ready to go.” — thus spoke Jean de La Fontaine, the poet-philosopher of France, whose fables clothed eternal truths in gentle parables. But this saying is no fable; it is a mirror held to the soul. It reminds us that to live wisely is to live prepared, not in fear of death, but in harmony with it. For to the wise, death is not an enemy — it is the final teacher, the quiet closing of a well-lived day. The fool trembles when the night descends; the wise man, having kept his heart pure and his purpose steadfast, greets it as a friend.

La Fontaine lived in an age when plague and war often shadowed the world. He had seen death come without warning — to the rich and the poor, to the proud and the humble alike. Yet he saw also that those who had lived with virtue and understanding faced their end not with terror, but with serenity. For they knew that life’s brevity was its beauty, and that to live as though every breath were one’s last was to live truly. Thus he declared that the wise man is never surprised by death, for he has already made peace with it. His wisdom lies not in denying mortality, but in accepting it with grace.

In the language of the ancients, this truth has always been known. The Stoic philosophers of Greece and Rome taught that to meditate upon death was the highest exercise of the soul. “Memento mori,” they said — remember you will die. Yet this was not a call to despair, but to awakening. For the man who remembers his end ceases to waste his days in vanity. He loves more fiercely, forgives more swiftly, and labors more faithfully, knowing that time is the most precious gift. Death, to him, is not a thief but a reminder — that what we do with this brief hour of existence determines whether we live as mortals or as immortals in spirit.

Consider the story of Socrates, who drank the hemlock with calm and dignity. As the poison crept through his veins, his friends wept, but he smiled. “The hour of departure has arrived,” he said, “and we go our ways — I to die, you to live. Which is better, only the gods know.” He was not caught unprepared, for his entire life had been a preparation for that moment. In him we see La Fontaine’s truth made flesh: the wise man carries no fear into the final journey, for he has lived in accordance with his conscience and accepted the limits of his days.

The unwise, however, live as if death will never come. They chase wealth, pleasure, and power, as though these will grant them immortality. But when the shadow falls — as it surely will — they are left bewildered, clinging to what cannot be held. Their fear arises not from death itself, but from the wasted life behind them. The wise man, by contrast, measures his worth not in possessions but in peace. He tends to his soul as a gardener to his field, ensuring that when harvest time arrives, his spirit yields good fruit. Thus, when death comes knocking, he rises with calmness and says, “I am ready.”

La Fontaine’s words are not meant to be grim, but liberating. To be “always ready to go” is not to live in dread, but to live in awareness — to cherish each moment, to forgive, to love, and to fulfill one’s duties without regret. The wise man dies daily, letting go of pride, anger, and fear, so that when the final letting go arrives, it feels only natural. His readiness is not born of coldness, but of completeness — the peace that comes from having given his all to life and withheld nothing.

So, children of tomorrow, take heed of this teaching: do not fear death; fear an unlived life. Be like the wise man who greets each dawn as if it were his first and each dusk as if it were his last. Make peace with your past, live justly in the present, and look to eternity without trembling. Let your deeds be your farewell, your kindness your memorial, and your faith your guide. For when death finds you — as it finds all — let it not find you clinging, but standing tall, as one who has already crossed the threshold in spirit. Then, as La Fontaine promised, death will not take you by surprise, but will receive you as an old and faithful friend.