The love I felt for her on that train ride had a capital and provinces, parishes and a Vatican, an orange planet and many sullen moons -- it was systemic and it was complete.
Gary ShteyngartRead
In contravention of my belief that any life ending in death is essentially pointless, I needed my friends to open up that plastic bag and take one last look at me. Someone had to remember me, if only for a few more minutes in the vast silent waiting room of time.
Interpretation
The quote expresses the desire for connection and remembrance in the face of mortality.
In this quote, Gary Shteyngart reflects on the nature of life and death, highlighting the profound human need for connection and remembrance. He feels that despite his belief that death renders life pointless, the act of having friends acknowledge his existence even at the end is critical for achieving a sense of significance and leaving a mark in the continuum of time.
In practice
Using this quote in a eulogy to express the importance of being remembered by loved ones.
The love I felt for her on that train ride had a capital and provinces, parishes and a Vatican, an orange planet and many sullen moons -- it was systemic and it was complete.
My hair would continue to gray, and then one day, it would fall out entirely, and then, on a day meaninglessly close to the present one, meaninglessly like the present one, I would disappear from the earth. And all these emotions, all these yearnings, all these data, if that helps to clinch the enormity of what I'm talking about, would be gone. And that's what immortality means. It means selfishness. My generations belief that each one of us matters more than you or anyone else would think.
That's what tyrants do, I guess. They make you covet their attention; they make you confuse attention for mercy.
When civilization takes a nose dive, how can you look away? You've got to be there. You've got to be at the bottom of the swimming pool taking notes.
Every returning New Yorker asks the question: Is this still my city? I have a ready answer, cloaked in obstinate despair: It is. And if it's not, I will love it all the more. I will love it to the point where it becomes mine again.
Then I celebrated my Wall of Books. I counted the volumes on my twenty-foot-long modernist bookshelf to make sure none had been misplaced or used as kindling by my subtenant. “You’re my sacred ones,” I told the books. “No one but me still cares about you. But I’m going to keep you with me forever. And one day I’ll make you important again.” I thought about that terrible calumny of the new generation: that books smell.
It's great if a pilot starts off great and if it doesn't start off so great it's not that big a deal: everybody's baby is born ugly. But you want to know, if given the opportunity: Where are we going? What's the story we're trying to tell?
Come children, let us shut up the box and the puppets, for our play is played out.
There was always a quest for more minutes, more hours, faster progress to accomplish more in each day. The simple joy of living between summers was gone.
If my life was a movie, no one would believe it.
This is how it works _x000D_ You're young until you're not _x000D_ You love until you don't _x000D_ You try until you can't _x000D_ You laugh until you cry _x000D_ You cry until you laugh _x000D_ And everyone must breathe _x000D_ Until their dying breath.
What are the best things and the worst things in your life, and when are you going to get around to whispering or shouting them?
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