The World Motivation
It’s not contagious, you know. Death is as natural as life. It’s part of the deal we made.
“As my visits with Morrie go on, I begin to read about death, how different cultures view the final passage. There is a tribe in the North American Arctic, for example, who believe that all things on earth have a soul that exists in a miniature form of the body that hold it -so that a deer has a tiny deer inside it, and a man has a tiny man inside him. When the large being dies, that tiny form lives on. It can slide into something being born nearby, or it can go to a temporary resting place in the sky, in the belly of a great feminine spirit, where it waits until the moon can send it back to earth.”
“There is no experience like having children.’ That’s all. There is no substitute for it. You cannot do it with a friend. You cannot do it with a lover. If you want the experience of having complete responsibility for another human being, and to learn how to love and bond in the deepest way, then you should have children.”
“But she wasn’t around, and that’s the thing when your parents die, you feel like instead of going in to every fight with backup, you are going into every fight alone.”
“There are some mornings when I cry and cry and mourn for myself. Some mornings, I'm so angry and bitter. But it doesn't last too long. Then I get up and say, 'I want to live..'”
“But everyone knows someone who has died, I said.”
“Amy [Winehouse] changed pop music forever, I remember knowing there was hope, and feeling not alone because of her. She lived jazz, she lived the blues.”
“Ot minderimle kerevet tahtası arasında sanki kumaşa yapışmış nerdeyse saydamlaşmış bir gazete parçası buldum. Geçmiş bir polis olayını anlatıyordu. Baş tarafı yoktu. Ama, olay herhalde Çekoslovakya'da geçmiş olmalıydı. Adamın biri para kazanmak için bir Çek köyünden ayrılmış. Yirmi beş yıl sonra, zengin olarak, karısı ve bir çocuğuyle birlikte köyüne dönmüş. Annesi kız kardeşiyle birlikte, doğduğu köyde otel işletiyorlarmış. Adam onlara sürpriz yapmak için, karısıyla çocuğunu bir başka otele bırakıp annesinin oteline gitmiş. İçeriye girince annesi kendisini tanımamış. O da, şaka olsun diye bir oda tutmuş, paralarını da göstermiş. Geceleyin, annesiyle kız kardeşi, paralarını almak için kafasına çekiçle vura vura adamcağızı öldürmüşler, cesedini de nehre atmışlar. Sabahleyin, karısı gelip olup bitenden habersiz, yolcunun kim olduğunu söylemiş. Ana kendini asmış, kız kardeşi de kendini kuyuya atmış. Bu öyküyü binlerce kez okudum sanıyorum. Öykü bir yandan gerçeğe uymuyordu, bir yandan olağan bir şeydi. Kısacası, bana kalırsa, yolcu bunu biraz da hak etmişti. İnsan hiçbir zaman böyle oyun oynamamalı.”
“Oh Julie, wouldn’t I know if you were dead? Wouldn’t I feel it happening, like a jolt of electricity to my heart?”
“Today I have gathered together my nearest and dearest, my sixteen nieces and nephews (Sit down, Grace Windsor Wexler!) to view the body of your Uncle Sam for the last time. Tomorrow its ashes will be scattered to the four winds. I, Samuel W. Westing, hereby swear that I did not die of natural causes. My life was taken from me–by one of you!”
“What a waste.. All those people saying all those wonderful things, and Irv never got to hear any of it.”
“Because children grow up, we think a child's purpose is to grow up. But a child's purpose is to be a child. Nature doesn't disdain what lives only for a day. It pours the whole of itself into the each moment. We don't value the lily less for not being made of flint and built to last. Life's bounty is in its flow, later is too late. Where is the song when it's been sung? The dance when it's been danced? It's only we humans who want to own the future, too. We persuade ourselves that the universe is modestly employed in unfolding our destination. We note the haphazard chaos of history by the day, by the hour, but there is something wrong with the picture. Where is the unity, the meaning, of nature's highest creation? Surely those millions of little streams of accident and wilfulness have their correction in the vast underground river which, without a doubt, is carrying us to the place where we're expected! But there is no such place, that's why it's called utopia. The death of a child has no more meaning than the death of armies, of nations. Was the child happy while he lived? That is a proper question, the only question. If we can't arrange our own happiness, it's a conceit beyond vulgarity to arrange the happiness of those who come after us.”
“This is the secret that none dares tell who fights for a cause. Dying, we are all alike.”