There is a character named Jakub in Milan Kundera's novel, Farewell Waltz, who carries a poison tablet on his person, wherever he goes. It gives him the liberating feeling that he has the power whether to live or die, in his hands.
Apply this scenario to real life, and I find it ludicrous. How many people have you heard of, apart from terrorists, who commit suicide without a second thought (Jakub survives, but that's not the point here). Even at the exact moment that we are prepared to face the end, don't all of us hope for a hand to reach out and pull us back into the bustle of life? And even if that doesn't happen, your sense of duty may hold you back. Because love is both a burden and a curse. Call me ungrateful, but those of you who have felt it is only a blessing, are truly lucky.