I guess I just couldn't see standing there -- alive, talking, thinking, breathing, being -- one second, and dead the next. It really bothered me. Death by violence isn't the same as dying any other way, accident or disease or old age. It just ain't the same.
Interpretation
The quote reflects on the abruptness of death, especially through violence, contrasting it with natural death.
In this quote, S. E. Hinton expresses a profound discomfort with the concept of death, particularly when it is sudden and violent. The speaker grapples with the stark reality of being vibrantly alive one moment and then non-existent the next, highlighting the emotional weight and psychological impact that violent death carries compared to other forms of passing, such as through aging, accidents, or illness. This contemplation raises deeper questions about the nature of existence and mortality, illustrating a broader societal issue surrounding violence.
In practice
In a discussion about the impact of violence in society, this quote can help illustrate the emotional toll of such events.
Your mother is not crazy. Neither, contrary to popular belief, is your brother. He is merely miscast in a play. He would have made the perfect knight in a different century, or a very good pagan prince in a time of heroes. He was born in the wrong era, on the wrong side of the river, with the ability to do anything and finding nothing he wants to do.
Sometimes, I feel like I spent the first part of my life wishing to be a teen-age boy, and the second part condemned to being one.
That's why people don't ever think to blame the Socs and are always ready to jump on us. We look hoody and they look decent. It could be just the other way around - half of the hoods I know are pretty decent guys underneath all that grease, and from what I've heard, a lot of Socs are just cold-blooded mean - but people usually go by looks.
Anything you read can influence your work, so I try to read good stuff.
Things were rough all over, but it was better that way. That way you could tell the other guy was human too.
I had it then. Soda fought for fun, Steve for hatred, Darry for pride, and Two-Bit for conformity. Why do I fight? I thought, and couldn't think of any real good reason. There isn't any real good reason for fighting except self-defense.
The afflicted are not listened to. They are like someone whose tongue has been cut out and who occasionally forgets the fact. When they move their lips no ear perceives any sound. And they themselves soon sink into impotence in the use of language, because of the certainty of not being heard.
Every life has dark tracts and long stretches of somber tint, and no representation is true to fact which dips its pencil only in light, and flings no shadows on the canvas.
You cannot dictate what people find funny, what people find attractive, or what people find scary. There is not a norm.
All paths are the same: they lead nowhere. ... Does this path have a heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn't, it is of no use. Both paths lead nowhere; but one has a heart, the other doesn't. One makes for a joyful journey; as long as you follow it, you are one with it. The other will make you curse your life. One makes you strong; the other weakens you.
Fear is a relative thing; its effects are relative to power.
You see, the deaf have an intimacy with silence. It’s there in their dreams.
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