Flowers for Algernon

by Daniel Keyes

Strange about learning; the farther I go the more I see that I never knew even existed. A short while ago I foolishly thought I could learn everything—all the knowledge in the world. Now I hope only to be able to know of its existence, and to understand one grain of it.

What is my place? Who and what am I now? Am I the sum of my life or only of the past months?

No one in this room considered me an individual—a human being. The constant juxtaposition of “Algernon and Charlie,” and “Charlie and Algernon,” made it clear that they thought of both of us as a couple of experimental animals who had no existence outside the laboratory.

It might be said that Charlie Gordon did not really exist before this experiment. . . . ”

I see now that when Norma flowered in our garden I became a weed, allowed to exist only where I would not be seen, in corners and dark places.

How strange it is that people of honest feelings and sensibility, who would not take advantage of a man born without arms or legs or eyes—how such people think nothing of abusing a man born with low intelligence.

Although we know the end of the maze holds death (and it is something I have not always known—not long ago the adolescent in me thought death could happen only to other people), I see now that the path I choose through that maze makes me what I am. I am not only a thing, but also a way of being—one of many ways—and knowing the paths I have followed and the ones left to take will help me understand what I am becoming.

I think when you look at me your conscience bothers you.”

intelligence and education that hasn’t been tempered by human affection isn’t worth a damn.”

“Don’t misunderstand me,” I said. “Intelligence is one of the greatest human gifts. But all too often a search for knowledge drives out the search for love.

P.S. please if you get a chanse put some flowrs on Algernons grave in the bak yard.