I was taught to confront things you can't avoid. Death is one of

In the bold and piercing words of Damien Hirst, the artist who dared to make death his canvas, there rings an eternal wisdom: “I was taught to confront things you can’t avoid. Death is one of those things. To live in a society where you’re trying not to look at it is stupid because looking at death throws us back into life with more vigour and energy. The fact that flowers don’t last forever makes them beautiful.” These words, at once unsettling and luminous, capture a truth that the ancients knew but that modern hearts too often forget — that the fleeting nature of existence is not a curse, but the very source of its beauty.

The origin of this quote emerges from Hirst’s lifelong fascination with mortality and the tension between decay and preservation. As one of the leading figures of the Young British Artists movement, he became famous — and infamous — for his works involving preserved animals, skulls, and symbols of death. To some, his art was shocking; to others, it was an unflinching meditation on the fragility of life. Hirst’s words reveal that his intent was never to glorify death, but to reconcile with it — to stare into the abyss until it reflected back the value of living. He was taught, as the wise are, that to look away from death is to weaken life, but to face it is to awaken.

The ancients understood this confrontation well. The Stoic philosophers of Rome spoke often of memento mori — “remember you must die.” It was not meant as a dark reminder, but as a summons to live with awareness. Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor, wrote, “Do not act as if you were going to live ten thousand years. Death hangs over you. While you live, while it is in your power, be good.” The Stoics believed that by holding death in one’s mind, one could purify one’s actions and deepen one’s gratitude. Hirst, in his own modern way, carries forward this same ancient truth — that to deny death is to live superficially, but to acknowledge it is to live authentically, with eyes wide open to the miracle of each breath.

To look away from death, as Hirst laments, is the great folly of modern society. We worship youth, we disguise aging, we hide the dying from view — as if pretending immortality could grant it. But this refusal to see the inevitable weakens the soul. It leaves us fragile when loss comes, and ungrateful while life still blooms. The ancients did not live this way. They built tombs not to conceal death, but to honor it, to remind themselves that all things — power, beauty, glory — pass like petals in the wind. To them, impermanence was not horror, but harmony. The same truth lives in the cycle of the seasons, in the birth and fading of flowers, in the rise and fall of empires. To die is part of the same music as to live.

Consider the Japanese cherry blossom, the sakura, which blooms for only a few fleeting days each spring. Its brief existence has, for centuries, been celebrated as a symbol of the fragile and precious nature of life. The samurai, who lived with death as a daily companion, saw in the falling petals a reflection of their own destiny — that beauty is made sacred by its transience. Damien Hirst’s words echo this same ancient understanding: that flowers don’t last forever, and it is this very impermanence that gives them their beauty. Were they to bloom eternally, their fragrance would cease to move us, their colors would cease to astonish. It is because they die that they remind us to live.

Death, then, is not the enemy of life, but its mirror. It teaches us urgency, humility, and reverence. When Hirst says that “looking at death throws us back into life with more vigour and energy,” he is calling us to awaken — to realize that every joy, every sorrow, every touch of sunlight is part of a finite gift. Those who pretend death does not exist move through the world like sleepwalkers; those who face it stride with purpose, knowing that time is sacred. To look into death is to see life magnified — sharper, more vivid, more real.

So, my child of tomorrow, take this teaching to heart: do not look away from death, and you will learn how to live. Stand in the presence of endings — the falling leaf, the fading flower, the passing of a loved one — and instead of despair, let gratitude rise within you. Let the awareness of mortality make you gentle with others, fierce with your purpose, and awake to the miracle of this fleeting hour.

For as Damien Hirst reminds us, the beauty of life is inseparable from its impermanence. To confront death is not to embrace despair, but to discover awe. When you realize that nothing lasts forever, you will love more deeply, act more boldly, and cherish more completely. The flowers of your life will fade — but oh, how brightly they will have bloomed.