Lennie Quotes

There are never enough 'I love you's.

That's a misconception, Lennie. The sky is everywhere, it begins at your feet.

If you can't say "Fuck" you can't say, "Fuck the government.

Every day people are straying away from the church and going back to God.

If Jesus had been killed twenty years ago, Catholic school children would be wearing little electric chairs around their necks instead of crosses.

Lennie begged, "Le's do it now. Le's get that place now." "Sure right now. I gotta. We gotta.

The 'what should be' never did exist, but people keep trying to live up to it. There is no 'what should be,' there is only what is.

Lennie said quietly, "It ain't no lie. We're gonna do it. Gonna get a little place an' live on the fatta the lan'.

I'm playing 'chicken' with a kid called 'Robin.' I don't know why he's showing off. I don't know why I'm going along with it. I don't even know where we're going. It could be a robbery. Or prison break. A gang war. Or free donuts at Lenny's. He sees that Bat-signal in the sky and takes off. Like a bird out of Hell. And he just expects me to follow him. And I do.

The only honest art form is laughter, comedy. You can't fake it...try to fake three laughs in an hour -- ha ha ha ha ha -- they'll take you away, man. You can't.

Who knew Lenny was an encyclopedia for useless information?

But then I think about my sister and what a shell-less turtle she was and how she wanted me to be one too. C'mon, Lennie, she used to say to me at least ten times a day. C'mon Len. And that makes me feel better, like it's her life rather than her death that is now teaching me how to be, who to be.

I ain't got no people. I seen the guys that go around on the ranches alone. That ain't no good. They don't have no fun. After a long time they get mean. They get wantin' to fight all the time. . . 'Course Lennie's a God damn nuisance most of the time, but you get used to goin' around with a guy an' you can't get rid of him.

Satire is tragedy plus time. You give it enough time, the public, the reviewers will allow you to satirize it. Which is rather ridiculous, when you think about it.

The guy's life drunk, I think, makes Candide look like a sourpuss. Does he even know that death exists?

- Just do you know, Lenny this isn't a date. - Then what is it? - It's me falling sorry for you, because you're such a loser.

The cruelty of strangers never usually upsets me, but the kindness of strangers is oddly devastating.

Liberals can understand everything but people who don't understand them.

My grandmother thinks it's really funny to put all sorts of things in our - my lunch. I never know what'll be inside: e.e. cummings, flower petals, a handful of buttons. She seems to have lost sight of the original purpose of the brown bag." - Lennie "Or maybe she thinks other forms of nourishment are more important." - Joe

Get out to Lenny’s for their big grand opening sale. Find eight government secrets and get a free kidnapping and personality reassignment so that you’ll forget you found them!

I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

I am influenced by every second of my waking hour.

Waylon said it best when he sang to Willy; 'If you see me gettin' smaller, I'm leavin' don't be grievin', just gotta get away from here. If you see me gettin' smaller, don't worry, I'm in no hurry I've got the right to disappear.

If you live in New York, even if you're Catholic, you're Jewish

There is only what is and that's it. What should be is a dirty lie.

Take away the right to say ‘fuck’ and you take away the right to say ‘fuck the government.

Doreen is dissolving, Lenny Shepherd is dissolving, Frankie is dissolving, New York is dissolving, they are all dissolving away and none of them matter anymore.I don't know them. I have never known them and I am very pure.

I won't say ours was a tough school, but we had our own coroner. We used to write essays like "What I'm Going to be If I Grow Up

And Lenni, when you get to heaven,” he said. Her eyes opened. “Give ’em hell.

Do you know," she said slowly, "that the stars that we see the clearest are already dead?" "Well, that's depressing." I took my hand from hers. "No," she said gently, linking her arm through mine, "it's not depressing, it's beautiful. They've been gone for who knows how long, but we can still see them. They live on." They live on.

Let Love Rule

Gram made me go to the doctor to see if there was something wrong with my heart. After a bunch of tests, the doctor said: Lennie, you lucked out. I wanted to punch him in the face, but instead I started to cry in a drowning kind of way. I couldn't believe I had a lucky heart when what I wanted was the same kind of heart as Bailey. I didn't hear Gram come in, or come up behind me, just felt her arms slip around my shaking frame, then the press of both her hands hard against my chest, holding it all in, holding me together. Thank God she whispered, before the doctor or I could utter a word. How could she possibly have known that I'd gotten good news?

Did you hear something?" "No." "Did I hear something?" "...I don't know...

I think the same is true of dying. We can’t know why you are dying in the same way that we can’t know why you are living. Living and dying are both complete mysteries, and you can’t know either until you have done both.

The thing is, all my heroes were junkies. Lenny Bruce, Keith Richards, William Burroughs, Miles Davis, Hubert Selby, Jr... These guys were cool. They were committed. They would not have been caught dead doing an ALF episode.

Everyone runs around trying to find a place where they still serve breakfast because eating breakfast, even if it's 5 o'clock in the afternoon, is a sign that the day has just begun and good things can still happen. Having lunch is like throwing in the towel.

You are a white. The Imperial Wizard. Now, if you don't think this is logic you can burn me on the fiery cross. This is the logic: You have the choice of spending fifteen years married to a woman, a black woman or a white woman. Fifteen years kissing and hugging and sleeping real close on hot nights. With a black, black woman or a white, white woman. The white woman is Kate Smith. And the black woman is Lena Horne. So you're not concerned with black or white anymore, are you? You are concerned with how cute or how pretty. Then let's really get basic and persecute ugly people!

And I will be forever changed by the people I have met and their bravery, their courage and their light.

I really am fine,” Humphrey said in the corridor. “I just got old by accident.

The Beat Generation, that was a vision that we had, John Clellon Holmes and I, and Allen Ginsberg in an even wilder way, in the late forties, of a generation of crazy, illuminated hipsters suddenly rising and roaming America, serious, bumming and hitchhiking everywhere, ragged, beatific, beautiful in an ugly graceful new way--a vision gleaned from the way we had heard the word 'beat' spoken on streetcorners on Times Square and in the Village, in other cities in the downtown city night of postwar America--beat, meaning down and out but full of intense conviction--We'd even heard old 1910 Daddy Hipsters of the streets speak the word that way, with a melancholy sneer--It never meant juvenile delinquents, it meant characters of a special spirituality who didn't gang up but were solitary Bartlebies staring out the dead wall window of our civilization--the subterraneans heroes who'd finally turned from the 'freedom' machine of the West and were taking drugs, digging bop, having flashes of insight, experiencing the 'derangement of the senses,' talking strange, being poor and glad, prophesying a new style for American culture, a new style (we thought), a new incantation--The same thing was almost going on in the postwar France of Sartre and Genet and what's more we knew about it--But as to the actual existence of a Beat Generation, chances are it was really just an idea in our minds--We'd stay up 24 hours drinking cup after cup of black coffee, playing record after record of Wardell Gray, Lester Young, Dexter Gordon, Willie Jackson, Lennie Tristano and all the rest, talking madly about that holy new feeling out there in the streets- -We'd write stories about some strange beatific Negro hepcat saint with goatee hitchhiking across Iowa with taped up horn bringing the secret message of blowing to other coasts, other cities, like a veritable Walter the Penniless leading an invisible First Crusade- -We had our mystic heroes and wrote, nay sung novels about them, erected long poems celebrating the new 'angels' of the American underground--In actuality there was only a handful of real hip swinging cats and what there was vanished mightily swiftly during the Korean War when (and after) a sinister new kind of efficiency appeared in America, maybe it was the result of the universalization of Television and nothing else (the Polite Total Police Control of Dragnet's 'peace' officers) but the beat characters after 1950 vanished into jails and madhouses, or were shamed into silent conformity, the generation itself was shortlived and small in number.

Somewhere, out in the world, are the people who touched us, or loved us, or ran from us. In that way we will live on. If you go to the places we have been, you might meet someone who passed us once in a corridor but forgot us before we were even gone. We are in the back of hundreds of people's photographs - moving, talking, blurring into the background of a picture two strangers have framed on their living room mantelpiece. And in that way, we will live on too. But it isn't enough. It isn't enough to have been a particle in the great extant of existence. I want, we want, more. We want for people to know us, to know our story, to know who we are and who we will be. And after we've gone, to know who we were.

We have practiced for death every night. Lying down in the dark and slipping into that place of nothingness between rest and dreams where we have no consciousness, no self, and anything could befall our vulnerable bodies. We have died each night. Or at least, we have laid down to die, and let go of everything in this world, hoping for dreams and morning.

There are some words in the Lord’s Prayer that I don’t know. But I do know the word art. It’s a necessary inclusion, I think. We should all be artists. Especially if God is doing art in heaven; we should follow his example.

Even if you are Catholic, if you live in New York you're Jewish. If you live in Butte, Montana, you are going to be goyish even if you are Jewish.

Lenny Bruce described flamenco as being an art form wherein a dancer applauds his own ass.

The answer I have, the only one I have,” he said, “is that you are dying because you are dying. Not because of God’s deciding to punish you and not because He is neglecting you, but simply because you are. It is a part of your story as much as you are.

At night, when we were little, we tented Bailey's covers, crawled underneath with our flashlights and played cards: Hearts, Whist, Crazy Eights, and our favourite: Bloody Knuckles. The competition was vicious, All day, every day, we were the Walker Girls - two peas in a pod thick as thieves - but when Gram closed the door for the night, we bared our teeth. We played for chores, for slave duty, for truths and dares and money. We played to be better, brighter, to be more beautiful, more, just more. But it was all a ruse - we played so we could fall asleep in the same bed without having to ask, so we could wrap together like a braid, so while we slept our dreams could switch bodies. (Found written on the inside cover of Wuthering Heights, Lennie's room)

And that's another thing. What if I were to talk to Tanker, find out if he's happy at the Polonius Room, see if maybe he wants to come back? He was always such a key part of this kitchen." Rickey pointed a chocolate-smudged finger at Lenny. "Don't you dare. If I decide I want to talk to him, I'll talk to him. I told you, I don't need you handling my business for me." "I understand," Lenny said, making a mental note to call Tanker.

Lenni," she said softly, "you're the bravest person I know." "Why?" "You just are," she said, and the moment fell between us." "Dying isn't brave," I said, "it's accidental. I'm not brave, I'm just not dead yet.

And in the quiet, as she carefully outlined her yellow star in gold, I got this feeling I've never felt with anyone. That I had all the time in the world. I didn't have to rush to tell her anything, we could just be.

Somewhere, out in the world, are the people who touched us, or loved us, or ran from us. In that way we will live on.

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

Lives in stories have direction and meaning. Even stupid, meaningless lives, like Lenny's in "Of Mice and Men," Acquire through their places in a story at least the dignity and meaning of being Stupid, Meaningless Lives, the consolation of being exemplars of something. In real life you do not get even that.

Communism is like one big phone company.

People are leaving the church and going back to God.

There is nothing sadder than an aging hipster.

There are no mistakes, no coincidences, all events are blessings given to us to learn from.

We got half the doggone MIT college of engineering here, and nobody who can fix a doggone /television/?" Dr. Joseph Abernathy glared accusingly at the clusters of young people scattered around his living room. That's /electrical/ engineering, Pop," his son told him loftily. "We're all mechanical engineers. Ask a mechanical engineer to fix your color TV, that's like asking an Ob-Gyn to look at the sore on your di-ow!" Oh, sorry," said his father, peering blandly over gold-rimmed glasses. "That your foot, Lenny?

Lennie rolled off the bunk and stood up, and the two of them started for the door. Just as they reached it, Curley bounced in. "You seen a girl around here?" he demanded angrily. George said coldly, "'Bout half an hour ago maybe." "Well, what the hell was she doin'?" George stood still, watching the angry little man. He said insultingly, "She said--she was lookin' for you." Curley seemed really to see George for the first time. His eyes flashed over George, took in his height, measured his reach, looked at his trim middle. "Well, which way'd she go?" he demanded at last. "I dunno," said George. "I didn't watch her go." Curley scowled at him, and turning, hurried out the door. George said, "Ya know, Lennie, I'm scared I'm gonna tangle with that bastard myself. I hate his guts. Jesus Christ! Come on. There won't be a damn thing left to eat.

[Lennie meets Joe - he works out that she was named after John Lennon] I nod. "Mom was a hippie." This is northern Northern California after all - the final frontier of freakerdom. Just in the eleventh grade we have a girl named Electricity, a guy named Magic Bus, and countless flowers: Tulip, Begonia, and Poppy - all parent-given-on-the-birth-certificate names. Tulip is a two-ton bruiser of a guy who would be the star of out football team if we were the kind of school that has optional morning meditation in the gym

We can’t know why we are dying in the same way we can’t know why we are living. Living and dying are both complete mysteries, and toy can’t know either until you have done both.” “That’s poetic. And ironic.

Trying to imagine E. M. Forster, who found Ulysses indecorous, at a London performance of Lenny Bruce—to which in fact he was once taken. Trying to imagine the same for a time-transported Nathaniel Hawthorne—who during his first visit to Europe was even shocked by the profusion of naked statues.

Just FYI," Lenny says, his face still red from the nasty sunburn. "I've got a shitload of condoms in my duffle. Front pocket." "For what?" "Listen if you don't know what condoms are for I'm not gonna teach you." "I know what they're for, shithead. I just highly doubt you're getting any ass on this trip." "Watch me," Lenny says. "My boy gets action all the time." "Yeah, I bet your right hand is tired from all that action" I mumble as I walk to the bathroom. "I'm a leftie!" Lenny calls after me. I try not to wince from thinking about it.

If you sprinkle when you tinkle please be neat and wipe the seat.

We want for people to know us, to know our story, to know who we are and who we will be. And after we’ve gone, to know who we were.

Well, this is my final truth: if I had a granddaughter, I would want her to be exactly like you.

Olyan író akarok lenni, aki a lét kapuin dörömböl, s a lehetetlent kísérli meg. Ami ezen alul van, azt lenézem - tessék megbocsátani szerénytelenségemért, hiszen még senki vagyok és semmi-, mégis lenézem, mélységesen megvetem.

-I love you, Lenny. -From the diaphragm. -What are you talking about? -You have to say it from the diaphragm. That's a muscle in here. Real deep, not from the throat. I tried to be an actor once and that's the first thing they told me. That's when I quit. I just didn't have that much in my diaphragm.

All of my life Where have you been I wonder if I'll ever see you again And if that day comes I know we could win I wonder if I'll ever see you again

They say that God watches out for children, drunks and fools. Simply put, this means I stand a two-thirds better chance for divine intervention in my life than most other people.

must be lonesome, being bright and witty and aware,

A halál az örök körforgás része, akárcsak a párja, a születés. Nem lehet kiválogatni a nekünk tetsző darabokat, és a többit félredobni. A nagy egész részének lenni áldás. De minket, a Tuck családot kihagytak ebből. Az élet kemény munka, de félredobva élni, úgy, ahogy mi, felesleges. (…) A halál nélkül nincs élet. Úgyhogy azt, ami nekünk jutott nem lehet életnek nevezni. Mi csak vagyunk, mint a kövek az út mentén.

What I mean is, you’re not dying right now. In fact, right now you’re living.’ Margot and I both watched her try to explain. ‘Your heart is beating and your eyes are seeing and your ears are hearing. You’re sitting in this room completely alive. And so you’re not dying. You’re living.

I wish I were stronger and more secure in myself so that I could really spend my life with a guy like Lenny. Because he has a different kind of strength than Joshie. He has the strength of his sweet tuna arms. He has the strength of putting his nose in my hair and calling it home. He has the strength to cry when I go down on him. Who IS Lenny? Who DOES that? Who will ever open up to me like that again? No one. Because it's too dangerous. Lenny is a dangerous man. Joshie is more powerful, but Lenny is much more dangerous.

Life is a four-letter word.

إذا كنت تؤمن أنّ هناك من إله، إلهٍ صنع لك جسدك، ولكنّك لازلت تحسب أنّك تستطيع عمل أيّ شيءٍ قذرٍ بذلك الجسد، العيب يقع إذاً في المصنِّع

answers don’t always come in the form of words.

I don’t want a sharp chick who quotes Kerouac; I just want to hear my old lady say, “Get up and fix the toilet, it’s still making noise.

revenge is the only thing you can do to satisfy your anger, but you might find that after time has passed, forgiveness is what has done you the most good, is what you are most proud of.

But George sat stiffly on the bank and looked at his right hand that had thrown the gun away. The group burst into the clearing, and Curley was ahead. He saw Lennie lying on the sand. “Got him, by God.” He went over and looked down at Lennie, and then he looked back at George. “Right in the back of the head,” he said softly. Slim came directly to George and sat down beside him, sat very close to him. “Never you mind,” said Slim. “A guy got to sometimes.” But Carlson was standing over George. “How’d you do it?” he asked. “I just done it,” George said tiredly.

Lenni, wherever you are. Whatever wonderful world you find yourself in now. Wherever that fiery heart is, that quick wit, that disabling charm. Know that I love you. For the brief lifetime that we knew each other, I loved you like you were my very own daughter. You found an old woman worthy of your immense friendship and for that I am forever in your debt. So I have to say thank you.

I had always been an atheist until I met Lenny. He was too wonderously complex and good for there to be no benevolent and intelligent force behind our marvelous cosmos. Lenny gave me the actual proof my fiercely skeptical mind had always demanded. Not some logical, 37-step proof of God's existence. It was a personal proof. And it was irrefutable.

…Catholicism is like Howard Johnson, and what they have are these franchises and they give all these people different franchises in the different countries but they have one government, and when you buy the Howard Johnson franchise you can apply it to the geography - whatever's cool for that area - and then you, you know, pay the bread to the main office.

At one point, I began to think that I had a divine doorman. Lenny was the most unlikely incarnation of God I could imagine, and yet, I kept drifting irresistibly towards this absurd conclusion. Despite my staunchly atheistic inclinations, I couldn't explain Lenny any other way. But eventually I came to my senses and realized that he was just one of those game show freaks with an encyclopedic memory. That didn't make him God, did it? Would God proclaim so regularly how much he likes Patsy's Pizza?

We are in the back of hundreds of people’s photographs – moving, talking, blurring into the background of a picture two strangers have framed on their living-room mantelpiece.

Your heart is beating and your eyes are seeing and your ears are hearing. You’re sitting in this room completely alive. And so you’re not dying. You’re living.

A young Buddhist frog took a leap, into some traffic, "Beep, Beep!" He sprang from his feet, jumping into the street, and soon became one with a jeep. -The Ginger Poem of the Month

I said to myself: Doreen is dissolving, Lenny Shepherd is dissolving, Frankie is dissolving, New York is dissolving, they are all dissolving away and none of them matter any more. I don't know them, I have never known them and I am very pure. All that liquor and those sticky kisses I saw and the dirt that settled on my skin on the way back is turning into something pure.

If the mind is so powerful that it can kill a man with no illness and save a man who’s dying, I would never want to give my brain the opportunity to kill me by not believing that I might get better.

I’m fine here, Lenny. I’m discovering who I am without all my ornaments and accessories. It’s quite a slow process, but a very useful one. Everybody ought to do the same at the end of their life. If I had any self-discipline I would beat my grandson to it and write my own memoirs. I have time, freedom, and silence, the three things I never had amidst all the noise of my earlier life. I’m preparing to die.” “That won’t

Maksymilian feddhetetlen, árnyékként élő figura volt, és kényesen ügyelt rá, hogy az is maradjon. Ez elengedhetetlen volt a számára. Úgy mozgott Lengyelország határain belül, mintha láthatatlan lett volna. Ha Varsóban járt, kizárólag abban a privát klubban múlatta szívesen az időt, amely az érdekeltségébe tartozott. Kínosan kerülte a feltűnést, és kiküszöbölt minden lehetőséget, hogy a hatóságok látókörébe kerüljön. A felszín mindössze egy éles eszű, céltudatos, elegáns öltönybe bújt üzletembert láttatott, aki befektetésekkel foglalatoskodik. És ő mindent megtett azért, hogy ezt a kifogástalan felszínt senkinek se jusson eszébe megkapargatni. A valódi életét a színfalak mögött élte, lakásainak falai között, privát klubok elrejtett tárgyalótermeiben, luxusszállodák lakosztályaiban, magángépek fedélzetén, eldugott nyaralóhelyeken, magánjachtokon. A saját maga által felállított erkölcsi normák szerint élt, az ő világában az erős győz, és ő erős akart lenni, mert veszíteni képtelen volt. Intelligencia és helyzetfelismerő képesség birtokában soha nem is bukott bele semmibe. Mindenért, amije volt, keményen megküzdött, okos volt, ravasz, és merész, ha kitűzött egy célt, azt véghezvitte. Nagyratörő volt és elszánt. Imádta a minőségi holmikat, a tiszteletet, amely körülvette, imádta az autóit, a sebességet. De a józanságát és az éberségét csak ritkán hagyta elaludni, azt vallotta, hogy az embernek mindig készen kell állnia a legváratlanabb helyzetekre is. Olykor persze szerette halmozni az élvezeteket, melyekbe alkohol és drog csak ritkán vegyült, neki az élvezetet elsősorban a szex jelentette, amit senki mással nem szeretett még úgy megélni, mint Aleksandrával, akiben megtalálta a tökéletes szeretőt. Éppen csak betöltötte a negyvenet, de már mindene megvolt, amire csak vágyott.

Oh no. I'm not gonna let you leave yet. I'm gonna show you the value of takin' your time to get to work. I probably should have done this a long time ago.

Maya Angelou entered our lives at Virago in 1984, when we first published I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. "Entered our lives" is too tame. She danced, sang, and laughed her way straight into our hearts. She brought us a best-seller, but more than that, she brought us a reminder that the human need for dignity and recognition is a gift easily given to one another, but also frighteningly easy to withhold.

It isn’t enough to have been a particle in the great extant of existence. I want, we want, more. We want for people to know us, to know our story, to know who we are and who we will be. And after we’ve gone, to know who we were.

I don't smoke pot, and I'm glad because then I can champion it without special pleading. The reason I don't smoke it is because it facilitates ideas and heightens sensations-and I've got enough shit flying through my head without smoking pot.

When the crowd is with you, the jokes are fresh, your timing is just right, and the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligns with Mars. You are exactly where you should be, and there is nothing better. Comedy is a rare gift from the gods, an awesome invention. It propels you right into the heart of the universe. No wonder all the great comedians had such destructive private lives. Lenny Bruce had to shoot up, Richard Pryor had to freebase. Sam Kinison was just as abusive towards himself as he was to the crowd. After you get the audience into that kind of frenzy, and you are being worshiped like the false idol you are, how do you leave the stage and transition back into real life? How can you just come down? How can you ease back into mortality? What will you do for an encore? What is there left to do but set yourself on fire?

Last night, at a press conference, the City Council reminded everyone that the Dog Park is there for our community enjoyment and use, and so it is important that no one enter, look at, or think about the Dog Park. They are adding a new advanced camera system to keep an eye on the great black walls of the Dog Park at all times, and if anyone is caught trying to enter it, they will be forced to enter it, and will never be heard from again. If you see hooded figures in the Dog Park, no you didn’t. The hooded figures are perfectly safe, and should not be approached at any costs. The City Council ended the conference by devouring a raw potato in quick, small bites of their sharp teeth and rough tongues. No follow-up questions were asked, although there were a few follow-up screams. We have also received word via encrypted radio pulses about the opening of a new store: Lenny’s Bargain House of Gardenwares and Machine Parts, which until recently was that abandoned warehouse the government was using for the highly classified and completely secret tests I was telling you about last week. Lenny’s will serve as a helpful new source for all needs involving landscaping and lawn-decorating materials and also as a way for the government to unload all the machines and failed tests and dangerous substances that otherwise would be wasted on things like “safe disposal” or “burying in a concrete tomb until the sun goes out.” Get out to Lenny’s for their big grand opening sale. Find eight government secrets and get a free kidnapping and personality reassignment so that you’ll forget you found them!

Az első gondolatot mindig egy második követi, egyik rejtély szüli a másikat: vajon ugyanannyira élő-e mindenki más, mint ő maga? A nővére például számít-e önmagának, ugyanolyan fontos-e önmaga számára, mint Briony? Ceciliának lenni, az vajon ugyanolyan élettől pezsgő állapot-e, mint Brionynak lenni? Van-e nővérének is hullámtörés mögé rejtett titkos, igazi énje, és tölt-e vele időt, gondolkozik-e rajta, arca elé tartva egyik kinyújtott ujját? Van-e mindenkinek, apját, Bettyt, Hardmant is beleértve? Ha igen, akkor a világ, a társadalmi világ elviselhetetlenül bonyolult, kétmilliárd hang szól benne, és mindenkinek egyformán fontosak a gondolatai, mindenki egyformán ragaszkodhat foggal-körömmel az élethez, miközben egyedülállónak hiszi önmagát, pedig senki sem az. Az ember akár bele is fulladhat a jelentéktelenségbe.

They've started to say "life-limiting" instead now. "Children and young people with life-limiting conditions..." The nurse says it gently as she explains that the hospital has started to offer a counseling service for young patients whose conditions are "terminal." She falters, flushing red. "Sorry, I meant life-limiting." Would I like to sign up? I could have the counselor come to my bed, or I could go to the special counseling room for teenagers. They have a TV in there now. The options seem endless, but the term is not new to me. I have spent many days at the airport. Years. And still, I have not flown away.

Somewhere, out in the world, are the people who touched us, or loved us, or ran from us. In that way we will live on. If you go to the places we have been, you might meet someone who passed us once in a corridor but forgot us before we were even gone. We are in the back of hundreds of people’s photographs—moving, talking, blurring into the background of a picture two strangers have framed on their living room mantelpiece. And in that way, we will live on too. But it isn’t enough. It isn’t enough to have been a particle in the great extant of existence. I want, we want, more. We want for people to know us, to know our story, to know who we are and who we will be. And after we’ve gone, to know who we were.