What do you think?
Rate this book


128 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 30, 2016
‘I certainly have replaced knees and all the rest. On one occasion, I was visited by a fellow weightlifter—he’d had a medal in the Olympics—and we looked at each other at said, “What fools we were.”’
‘We all know that we’re going to die sometime, that human beings are mortal, that life has a limited span, even if one is a sea anemone. Actually, that’s not so if one is a sea anemone. Some sea anemones are three hundred years old and going strong. But when you have something like this, you know it’s there, that it’s not completely removed. And I think it’s given me a paradoxical feeling of how precious life is, and how precious time is.’
‘When I was thinking and writing about people who are deaf, and born deaf, I had a friend—actually a hearing child of deaf parents, extremely fluent in both sign language and speech—who would often come along with me. When I went to the island of the colorblind, which I wrote about in another book, one of my fellow travelers was a physiologist who himself was born totally colorblind. In this way, there can be no condescension or looking at a distance. But now my own cancer is a sort of mediator. Some of my patients at least know that I too am a patient. Although in some sense, we’re all patients.’
‘I mentioned to a friend of mine that I’d had an odd dream about globules of mercury, rising up and down. Mercury—my boyhood was full of chemistry and atomic numbers—mercury is element eighty. And somehow that dream started me off and I wrote the piece in an hour or so and sent it off. But there have been different reactions. I think a majority of people who have anticipated decline, and going down, and losing it—in all sorts of ways, including losing the people they love, their contemporaries—have been somewhat encouraged by the piece.’
‘I still miss them deeply, and recently I’ve been able to find a treasure trove of letters—And these have made me laugh and they’ve made me cry. And, it’s, um, I do miss people intensely.’
‘I love swimming and I feel young and strong, or ageless in the water. I think swimming is one of the few activities one can do for the first century—I have had a lot of impulsive and destructive trades with drugs, and other ways, and my friends didn’t expect me to make thirty, let alone forty, and I think it’s partly due to the good analyst that I’ve actually reached eighty.’
‘But there’s something to be said for late blooming, because late blooming may be part of a continued blooming. There’s something like music or mathematics, when one starts very early, but where experience of life is concerned, I think it has to be relatively late. By the way, I once saw an interview with the two oldest women in the world, though they were only one hundred and fourteen. When they were asked what contributed, the one in Holland said “herring,” she had herring everyday, and the one in Texas said, “minding my own business.”’