There's something about death that is comforting. The thought

Hear now, O children of the dawn, the words of Angelina Jolie, a seeker of truth and an artist of great intensity, who once said: “There’s something about death that is comforting. The thought that you could die tomorrow frees you to appreciate your life now.” In this reflection lies not darkness, but illumination — for it is not a hymn to death, but a call to life. Jolie, having walked among suffering and witnessed both beauty and decay, speaks here of the paradox that has guided sages through the ages: that to remember death is to awaken to the full majesty of living.

To understand her meaning, one must know the soil from which her words grew. Jolie, through her journeys as a humanitarian and her struggles with illness and loss, learned to dwell in the fragile borderland between existence and oblivion. She saw death not as an intruder, but as a mirror, one that reminds us of the brevity of our time upon the earth. Thus she declares comfort in mortality, not because she wishes for its arrival, but because in its shadow she has found clarity. The thought of death, far from diminishing life, sharpens its colors and purifies its meaning.

The ancients too knew this wisdom. The Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius taught, “You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.” He did not speak of despair, but of liberation — for the one who knows that life is brief lives each day with purpose and gratitude. Death, when seen rightly, does not enslave us with fear; it frees us from triviality. It reminds us that fame fades, riches decay, but kindness and courage echo beyond the grave. In remembering the end, we are freed to live the middle more wisely.

Think also of Joan of Arc, who stood before her accusers knowing her death was near. In that awareness, she found a serenity beyond comprehension, proclaiming that her soul was in God’s hands and that no fire could touch it. Her acceptance of death was not weakness but courage purified by truth. She did not cling to her life; she inhabited it fully until the last breath. So too does Jolie’s insight speak to this power: the one who lives with the awareness of death lives more fiercely, for she knows that every sunrise may be her final one, and thus every dawn is sacred.

Yet, for most of us, this comfort is not easily grasped. We flee from the thought of death as though it were poison, when in truth it is medicine — bitter, yes, but healing to the soul. Those who remember death’s presence do not waste their hours in resentment or regret. They speak more honestly, love more openly, and forgive more swiftly. Death’s shadow, when embraced with understanding, casts a holy light upon what truly matters. Awareness of mortality is not a curse; it is the beginning of wisdom.

Therefore, let this be the lesson: do not wait until life trembles to cherish it. Live as though each day were both the first and the last. When you wake, give thanks for breath. When you love, do not withhold your tenderness. When you labor, do it with joy, knowing that your time upon this earth is the most fleeting and precious of gifts. This is not morbid contemplation — it is the discipline of gratitude.

And when your mind grows heavy with fear of the inevitable, recall Jolie’s wisdom: there is comfort in death, not because it ends life, but because it gives it meaning. Without the shadow of mortality, we would not treasure the light. So walk boldly, O traveler of this brief world. Embrace each moment as if it were your last, for one day you shall be right — and until that day, you shall truly live.