Flowers for Algernon

by Daniel Keyes

“The more intelligent you become the more problems you’ll have, Charlie.

“Charlie, you amaze me. In some ways you’re so advanced, and yet when it comes to making a decision, you’re still a child. I can’t decide for you, Charlie. The answer can’t be found in books—or be solved by bringing it to other people. Not unless you want to remain a child all your life. You’ve got to find the answer inside you—feel the right thing to do. Charlie, you’ve got to learn to trust yourself.”

And how foolish I was ever to have thought that professors were intellectual giants. They’re people—and afraid the rest of the world will find out.

“Don’t think about it,” she whispered. “Feel it. Let it sweep over you like the sea without trying to understand.” She lay back on the grass and turned her face in the direction of the music.

each had found a fulfillment in giving away a part of himself to those who had less.

I’m on the edge of it. I sense it. They all think I’m killing myself at this pace, but what they don’t understand is that I’m living at a peak of clarity and beauty I never knew existed. Every part of me is attuned to the work. I soak it up into my pores during the day, and at night—in the moments before I pass off into sleep—ideas explode into my head like fireworks. There is no greater joy than the burst of solution to a problem.

This is beauty, love, and truth all rolled into one. This is joy. And now that I’ve found it, how can I give it up? Life and work are the most wonderful things a man can have. I am in love with what I am doing, because the answer to this problem is right here in my mind, and soon—very soon—it will burst into consciousness. Let me solve this one problem. I pray God it is the answer I want, but if not I will accept any answer at all and try to be grateful for what I had.

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

The universe was exploding, each particle away from the next, hurtling us into dark and lonely space, eternally tearing us away from each other—child out of the womb, friend away from friend, moving from each other, each through his own pathway toward the goal-box of solitary death. But this was the counterweight, the act of binding and holding. As when men to keep from being swept overboard in the storm clutch at each other’s hands to resist being torn apart, so our bodies fused a link in the human chain that kept us from being swept into nothing.