You have started the book with this bubble over your head that contains a cathedral full of fire - that contains a novel so vast and great and penetrating and bright and dark that it will put all other novels ever written to shame. And then, as you get towards the end, you begin to realise, no, it's just this book.
We throw our parties; we abandon our families to live alone in Canada; we struggle to write books that do not change the world, despite our gifts and our unstinting efforts, our most extravagant hopes. We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep--it's as simple and ordinary as that. A few jump out of windows or drown themselves or take pills; more die by accident; and most of us, the vast majority, are slowly devoured by some disease or, if we're very fortunate, by time itself.
Interpretation
What this quote means
This quote reflects on the simplicity and struggles of life, emphasizing the mundane nature of human existence despite our aspirations and efforts.
Michael Cunningham's quote touches on the complexities of life, where individuals engage in various activities, whether hosting parties or pursuing creative dreams, only to confront the inevitable reality of mortality. It highlights the contrast between our extravagant hopes and the often ordinary, tragic outcomes of life, serving as a reminder that existence includes a range of experiences from joy to despair, and ultimately, we all face the same fate, which can be both humbling and frightening.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
This quote can be used in a reflection on the meaning of life during a philosophical discussion.
More from Michael Cunningham
All quotes →Language in fiction is made up of equal parts meaning and music. The sentences should have rhythm and cadence, they should engage and delight the inner ear.
He insists on a version of you that is funnier, stranger, more eccentric and prfound thatn you suspect yourself to be--capable of doing more good and more harm in the world than you've ever imagined--it is all but impossible not to believe, at least in his presence and a while after you've left him, that he alone sees through your essence, weighs your true qualities . . . and appreciates you more fully than anyone else ever has.
What does it mean to regret when you have no choice? It's what you can bear. And there it is... It was death. I chose life.
The only difference was one of them was trying to make a perfect cake and one of them was trying to write a great book. But if we remove that from the equation, it's the same impulse and they are equally entitled to their ecstasies and their despair.
There is just this for consolation: an hour here or there, when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined , though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) knows these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still, we cherish the city, the morning, we hope, more than anything, for more. Heaven only knows why we love it so.
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Life is unjust and this is what makes it so beautiful. Every day is a gift. Be brave and take hold of it.