Some people die at 25 and aren't buried until 75.

Hear now, O child of the turning world, the immortal words of Benjamin Franklin, the sage of the early dawn of America, who said: “Some people die at 25 and aren’t buried until 75.” In this saying, he speaks not of the death of the body, but of the death of the spirit — that quiet, invisible perishing which comes long before the grave. He reveals a sorrowful truth: that many among the living have ceased to truly live. Their hearts no longer burn with curiosity, passion, or purpose; they move through life as shadows of what they might have been. The body remains, but the fire within it has gone out.

Benjamin Franklin, born of humble beginnings, was a man who refused such an early death. His life was a ceaseless act of reinvention — printer, inventor, philosopher, diplomat, and statesman. He understood that to live was not merely to breathe or labor, but to create, to grow, to question, to serve. And so he warned others through this quote: beware the slow death that comes when the soul surrenders to routine, comfort, or fear. For the tragedy of existence is not that we die, but that we stop living long before death arrives.

In this truth lies a universal warning. There are those who, by their mid-years, have grown weary of wonder. Their dreams, once vibrant, have turned to dust. They wake, they work, they sleep — but they no longer strive, no longer seek the meaning that gives breath its worth. They have become captives of habit, slaves to safety. Franklin, in his wisdom, saw this as the most dreadful fate of all: a life that ends in spirit while the body still walks. For to die in youth’s heart while living in age’s shell is to suffer a lifelong burial in mediocrity and regret.

Consider the story of Vincent van Gogh, who, though tormented and misunderstood, lived with fierce vitality until his final day. He had little wealth, little recognition, and constant sorrow — yet his spirit was aflame. Every stroke of his brush was an act of rebellion against death’s creeping shadow. Though his body perished young, his life burned with purpose, and that flame still lights the hearts of millions. He lived fully, even in suffering, while many who outlived him by decades never truly lived at all. In van Gogh, we see Franklin’s message inverted — a man whose spirit lived long after his flesh had fallen.

Franklin’s words remind us that life is not measured in years, but in aliveness. The young may die in spirit if they abandon their wonder; the old may remain ever-young if they continue to seek, to learn, to love. The soul’s death begins not in the grave, but in the moment one ceases to care, to dream, to act. The wise know that the art of living is not to prolong existence, but to fill it with meaning. The heart that dares, the mind that questions, the hand that serves — these are the signs of one who still lives, no matter their age.

And yet, Franklin’s warning is not despair but invitation. It calls us to awaken — to shake off the dust of complacency and rekindle the fire of our inner life. Do not wait for some grand destiny to make you alive; every moment, every task, every word can be transformed by intent. Read deeply, think boldly, love without measure, and serve without seeking reward. In doing so, you defy that inner death that so quietly claims the world. For each act of curiosity, each act of kindness, each act of courage, is a resurrection of the spirit.

So take this teaching, O listener, as both warning and blessing: guard the flame within you. Let not the years bury your wonder beneath the dust of habit. Refuse to die while living. When you wake, wake with purpose; when you work, work with heart; when you love, love with your whole being. For the grave will claim all flesh soon enough — but the soul that lives fiercely, that burns with gratitude and vision, will never lie buried. It will live on in its deeds, in its dreams, in the hearts of those it touches.

And thus, remember always the wisdom of Franklin: that the true death is not of the body, but of the spirit that forgets to live. Keep your spirit alive, and you shall never die — not at 25, nor at 75, nor ever, in the memory of those who walk the paths you have illuminated.