The wonderful thing about dying young, rich, and famous is that you’re spared the cruelties of time.  Wrinkles don’t line your eyes. The amber glow of nostalgia blurs over your scandals. You don’t have time to make an off-color joke or political faux pas, let alone hawk overpriced branded jam. Your worst moments are forgotten, your best images become merchandise, and nobody remembers the real you. And, if you were as image-conscious as the young Princess of Wales was, death can make you a permanent celebrity.