[b]Thornton Wilder
But soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left the earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.[/b]
Will the love have been enough?
Yes.
No.
Maybe.
Being employed is like being loved: you know that somebody’s thinking about you the whole time.
Unless of course you’re an expendable wage slave.
Some say that we shall never know, and that to the gods we are like the flies that the boys kill on a summer’s day, and some say, to the contrary, that the very sparrows do not lose a feather that has not been brushed away by the finger of God.
So, would you like to know what I say?
Money is like manure; it’s not worth a thing unless it’s spread around encouraging young things to grow.
I know: Let’s bring this to the attention of Don Trump.
Yes, now you know. Now you know! That’s what it was to be alive. To move about in a cloud of ignorance; to go up and down trampling on the feelings of those…of those about you. To spend and waste time as though you had a million years. To be always at the mercy of one self-centered passion, or another. Now you know — that’s the happy existence you wanted to go back to. Ignorance and blindness.
Remember when that used to be the American Dream?
Dona Maria saw that the people of this world moved about in an armor of egotism, drunk with self-gazing, athirst for compliments, hearing little of what was said to them, unmoved by the accidents that befell their closest friends, in dread of all appeals that might interrupt their long communion with their own desires.
Probably in all the other worlds too.