Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.
It is already possible to imagine a society in which the majority of the population, that is to say, its laborers, will have almost as much leisure as in earlier times was enjoyed by the aristocracy. When one recalls how aristocracies in the past actually behaved, the prospect is not cheerful.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote reflects on the potential for a future where workers enjoy leisure similar to that of the aristocracy, but questions the implications of such a society.
W. H. Auden's quote suggests a future where the laboring class might experience leisure time comparable to that which was typically reserved for the aristocracy in earlier historical periods. However, it also invokes a cautionary perspective, considering that the behavior of past aristocracies was often unsatisfactory, hinting that merely achieving leisure without a shift in character and values might not lead to a positive outcome for society as a whole.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
In a discussion about the future of work-life balance, this quote could highlight the risks of leisure without purpose.
More from W. H. Auden
All quotes →That the speech of self-disclosure should be translatable seems to me very odd, but I am convinced that it is. The conclusion that I draw is that the only quality which all human being without exception possess is uniqueness: any characteristic, on the other hand, which one individual can be recognized as having in common with another, like red hair or the English language, implies the existence of other individual qualities which this classification excludes.
Nobody knows what the cause is, though some pretend they do; it like some hidden assassin waiting to strike at you. Childless women get it, and men when they retire; it as if there had to be some outlet for their foiled creative fire.
History is, strictly speaking, the study of questions; the study of answers belongs to anthropology and sociology.
Music is the best means we have of digesting time.
'Healing,' Papa would tell me, 'is not a science, but the intuitive art of wooing nature.'
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Night, in which everything was lost, went reaching out, beyond stars and sun. Stars and sun, a few bright grains, went spiraling round for terror, and holding each other in embrace, there in a darkness that outpassed them all, and left them tiny and daunted. So much, and himself, infinitesimal, at the core of nothingness, and yet not nothing.