Father Died Last Year. I Don't Subscribe

The Absence Of The Will To Live Is, Alas, Not Sufficient To Make One Want To Die.

Of Course, We Can Distinguish Between Males And Females; We Can Also, If We Choose, Distinguish Between Different Age Categories; But Any More Advanced Distinction Comes Close To Pedantry, Probably A Result Of Boredom. A Creature That Is Bored Elaborates Distinctions And Hierarchies. According To Hutchinson And Rawlins, The Development Of Systems Of Hierarchical Dominance Within Animal Societies Does Not Correspond To Any Practical Necessity, Nor To Any Selective Advantage; It Simply Constitutes A Means Of Combating The Crushing Boredom Of Life In The Heart Of Nature.

Irony Won't Save You From Anything; Humour Doesn't Do Anything At All. You Can Look At Life Ironically For Years, Maybe Decades; There Are People Who Seem To Go Through Most Of Their Lives Seeing The Funny Side, But In The End, Life Always Breaks Your Heart. Doesn't Matter How Brave You Are, Or How Reserved, Or How Much You've Developed A Sense Of Humour, You Still End Up With Your Heart Broken. That's When You Stop Laughing.

I've Lived So Little That I Tend To Imagine I'm Not Going To Die; It Seems Improbable That Human Existence Can Be Reduced To So Little; One Imagines, In Spite Of Oneself, That Sooner Or Later Something Is Bound To Happen. A Big Mistake. A Life Can Just As Well Be Both Empty And Short. The Days Slip By Indifferently, Leaving Neither Trace Nor Memory; And Then All Of A Sudden They Stop.

I Think That If Writers Don't Speak About Real Life, It's Because They Don't Know It.