iQuote

John Cook, fishing guide, Montana
"I often think about how I would want to die. My own father recently died a slow death of lung disease. He lost control over his own life, and his last year was painful. I don't want to die that way. It may seem cold-blooded, but here is my fantasy of how I would die if I had my choice. In my fantasy, Pat would die before me. That's because, when we got married, I promised to love, honor, and take care of her, and if she died first, I would know that I had fulfilled my promise. Also, I have no life insurance to support her, so it would be hard if she outlived me. After Pat died -- my fantasy continues -- I would turn over the deed of my house to my son Cody, then I would go trout-fishing every day as long as I was physically in condition to do it. When I became no longer capable of fishing, I would get hold of a large supply of morphine and go off a long way into the woods. I would pick some remote place where nobody would ever find my body, and from which I could enjoy an especially beautiful view. I'd lie down facing that view and -- take my morphine. That would be the best way to die: dying in the way that I chose, with the last sight I see being a view of Montana as I want to remember it."

~ Jared Diamond, "Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed"

Self-reliant, each loner swims alone through a social world -- a world of teams, troops and groups -- that scorns and misunderstands those who stand apart. Loners are accused of being crazy, cold, stuck-up, standoffish, selfish, sad, bad, secretive and lonely -- and, of course, serial killers. Loners, however, know better than anyone how to entertain themselves -- and how to contemplate and create. Thay have a knack for imagination, concentration, inner discipline, and invention -- a talent of not being bored. (But) too often, loners buy into the society's messages and strive to change, making themselves miserable in the process by hiding their true nature -- and hiding from it.

Loners bristle at being advertised to. We might not mean to bristle, might not even see the bristle, but what else would loners do at being told to buy not just objects but lots of objects, and for dubious reasons -- because others buy them, because someone who is being paid to say so says so? Objects doomed to rapid obsolescence. Objects whose shimmer onscreen and in magazines is the exact same kind that loners see in the real world and realize is false, is cheap, is there only to trick the stupid and will disappoint. We know this on some level when the cheese melts on the pizza ad, but sudden hunger lunges out of nowhere and plucks our guts, too. We know we do not need a car, nasal spray, lipstick, life insurance, or at least not the specific brand or color being waved in front of us. How dare you tell me what to do? And yet we want.

Advertising is antithetical to the loner mentality. Yet it is masterful. It makes us clench. It turns us into accidental rebels: suffering the ache and labor of resisting strong-arm tactics, shunning the attractive, the seductive, the lavishly marketed. Reisting ads, insisting on buying what we want when we want and if we want, is radical. And failing to resist makes us feel, deep down, even just a bit, like Judas.

Time spent alone has a way of winnowing the inventory of what we need. It reveals that some of our best delights derive from the intangible -- from actions, experiences, thoughts -- rather than objects. Not every loner is a miser or minimalist, but to decrease contact with others is to decrease the number of items that seem necessary ... Desiring and requiring stuff means casting your lot with others. Intrinsically we know this. Being a rebel is tiring. Especially when you are up against a great hypnotic army that looks lke Naomi Campbell and whose battle cries are so catchy that you cannot get them out of your head.


Meeting anyone at all is not a loner's long suit. Meeting an assembly line of maybes has as much appeal as severe sunburn. Opening lines, small talk, seem repulsive -- and we haven't even mentioned pursuit. Spending any time even with those we know, even with old friends, can grate. For loners, spending time with strangers, again and again, and a stream of strangers, not merely to get over with but to discern whether someday you will put your tongue inside this person's mouth, is the definition of surreal. All this reality has little bearing on what outsiders presume. Prejudiced minds think in extremes, imagining that all loners want to be all alone at all times ... "loner" is not a synonym for "misanthrope." Nor is it one for "hermit," "celibate," or "outcast." It's just that we are very selective. Verrry selective.

~ Anneli Rufus, "Party of One: The Loner's Manifesto"

Oh, misanthropy and sourness. Gary wanted to enjoy being a man of wealth and leisure, but the country was making it none too easy. All around him, millions of newly minted American millionaires were engaged in the identical pursuit of feeling extraordinary -- of buying the perfect Victorian, of skiing the virgin slope, of knowing the chef personally, of locating the beach that has no footprints. There were further tens of millions of young Americans who didn't have money but were nonetheless chasing the Perfect Cool. And meanwhile the sad truth was that not everyone could be extraordinary, not everyone could be extremely cool; because whom would this leave to be ordinary? Who would perform the thankless work of being comparatively uncool?

~ Jonathan Franzen, "The Corrections"

(I really, really like this idea of negative polarity ...)

I have to admit, I am rather keen on keeping other people at arm's length. If a chap stands an inch behind me and loudly crunches and slurps an apple, I suffer and moan and clench all the clenchable parts of my anatomy, but what I really want to do (please don't tell anybody) is to turn around on the spot with fists raised, and with an efficient, clean one-two, knock all his teeth out. What I would really appreciate is a kind of negative polarity I could switch on in personal-space emergencies; in fact, now I think of it, is there any lovelier, more comforting four-word combination than "Activate the force field"? All my life, I seem to have seen wonderful, battery-draining force fields demonstrated in science-fiction movies, but let me tell you: if you try to buy one, you draw a blank. You can't even get an automatic apple-atomiser that will detect inappropriate propinquitous apple-consumption, blow the fruit to smithereens and deliver a mild incidental electric shock to the genitals. No, personal space is still an ideal rather than a solid reality off which bullets would bounce and swords glance. the best mental picture I can come up with for personal space as we know it is a spherical membrane eight feet in diameter with a person inside it, bowling along like a hamster in a ball.

~ Lynne Truss, "Talk to the Hand"

A philosopher ... or even your average human being ... might consider it stultifying to sit in a cube farm all day saying "Hello, and thank you for calling the Problem Resolution Center ..." then patiently listening to the user's complaint, then suggesting the obvious solution, then waiting for the next user's call. But often when I was at work, feeling relaxed and unfree, overqualified and airconditioned, it seemed to me that the plight of the low-level corporate drone was unfairly maligned by believers in social justice and human potential. It is true that the pay was low, the benefits nonexistent, the question of upward mobility moot, and the institutional neglect of our hidden talents virtually complete. But what a tremendous, almost vegetal peacefulness there was ... ! At night I might feel bad about colluding with my mediocrity -- but somehow while seated before my terminal as I swiveled back and forth in my standard-issue office chair, I felt that if I just kept working, with due diligence, at this time-serving American job that after all someone had to do, then whatever happened to me or my country wouldn't be my fault.

~ Benjamin Kunkel, "Indecision"

... if there was anything consistent with the way she raised us, it was in her refusal to allow any of us to indulge in self-pity of any kind. She achieved this through a maddening style of argument, in which the following three statements were repeated in various sequences:

A. It's your life + social commentary.
B. What you want and what you get are usually two entirely different things.
C. No one ever said that life was fair.

For example, an argument I had with her when I was eleven:

"I want to go out for the football team," I said. " ... all my friends are playing."

"It's your life," she answered." But I don't want to be responsible for you hobbling around on crutches your whole life because you blew out your knee as a kid. And besides, we don't have the money for it."

"But I want to."

"What you want and what you get are usually two entirely different things."

"That's not fair. You always say that."

She shrugged. "No one ever said that life was fair."

I paused, trying another approach.

"I won't get hurt, if that's what you're worried about."

She looked me over. "Someone your size? You'd definitely get hurt. I've seen football players. You'd be nothing more than a bug on the windshield to them. You're too small."

She had a point there. I was small.

"I wish I was bigger. Like my friends are."

She put a consoling hand on my shoulder. "Oh sweetie, no one ever said that life was fair."

"I know, but still ..."

"Just remember this, okay?" she'd offer, her voice softening with maternal affection. "It'll help you later in life when you're disappointed about anything. What you want and what you get are usually two entirely different things."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I should try another sport."

My mom would smile tenderly, as if finally conceding the argument. "Hey, do what you want. It's your life."

The older I get, the more I hated these arguments, because I lost every one of them. But still, deep down, I could never escape the feeling that my mom was probably right about most things. After all, she spoke from experience.

~ Nicholas Sparks, "Three Weeks with My Brother"

Your last name stays put. The garage is all yours. Wedding plans take care of themselves. Chocolate is just another snack. You can be President. You can never be pregnant. You can wear a white T-shirt to a water parka. You can wear NO shirt to a water parka. Car mechanics tell you the truth.

The world is your urinal. You never have to drive to another gas station restroom because this one is just too icky. You don't have to stop and think of which way to turn a nut on a bolt. Same work, more pay. Wrinkles add character. Wedding dress $5000. Tux rental-$100. People never stare at your chest when you're talking to them. The occasional well-rendered belch is practically expected. New shoes don't cut, blister, or mangle your feet. One mood all the time. Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat. You know stuff about tanks.

A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase. You can open all your own jars. You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness. If someone forgets to invite you, he or she can still be your friend. Your underwear is $8.95 for a three-pack. Three pairs of shoes are more than enough. You almost never have strap problems in public. You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes.

Everything on your face stays its original color. The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades. You only have to shave your face and neck. You can play with toys all your life. Your belly usually hides your big hips. One wallet and one pair of shoes one color for all seasons. You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look. You can "do" your nails with a pocket knife. You have freedom of choice concerning growing a mustache. You can do Christmas shopping for 25 relatives on December 24 in 25 minutes.

No wonder men are happier.

What Crake had to say was this: "Homo sapiens ... is one of the few species that doesn't limit reproduction in the face of dwindling resources. In other words - and up to a point, of course - the less we eat, the more we fuck."
"How do you account for that?" said Jimmy.
"Imagination," said Crake. "Men can imagine their own deaths, they can see them coming, and the mere thought of impending death acts like an aphrodisiac. A dog or rabbit doesn't behave like that. Take birds - in a lean season they cut down on the eggs, or they won't mate at all. They put their energy into staying alive themselves until times get better. But human beings hope they can stick their souls into someone else, some new version of themselves, and live on forever."
"As a species we're doomed by hope, then?"
"You could call it hope. That, or desperation."
"But we're doomed without hope, as well," said Jimmy.
"Only as individuals," said Crake cheerfully.

~ Margaret Atwood, "Oryx and Crake"

... the fact is that there is one extremely pertinent quality about life on Earth: it goes extinct. Quite regularly.

For all the trouble they take to assemble and preserve themselves, species crumble and die remarkably routinely. And the more complex they get, the more quickly they appear to go extinct. Which is perhaps one reason why so much of life isn't terribly ambitious.

~ Bill Bryson, "A Short History of Nearly Everything"

When I was young, 50 seemed like a very big number. I once believed I'd never live a long life and that my future would be different. But now I am right in the middle of my own future, and I have not found any real change in myself. My dream is as far as it was during my childhood. The only difference is that I have already lost my plan to realize it.

~ Wang Shuo

- What do you think faith is?
- Faith is the belief in something that can't be proven to exist.
- And why don't you have it?
- I think God is something People use to avoid reality. I think faith allows People to reject what is in front of our eyes, which is that this thing, this life, this existence, this consciousness, or whatever word you want to use for it, is all we have, and all we'll ever have. I think People have faith because they want to need to believe in something, whatever that something is, because life can be hard and depressing and brutal if you don't.
- You may be right, but what about accepting the idea that faith can make your life better. I know my faith makes my life better, and whether what I believe in exists or not, because I have faith in it, I get the benefits of that faith ... You can't prove love or friendship exist, but you still have faith in them. I'm asking you to apply the same principle to someething greater than yourself.
- I can feel love and friendship. I can see and touch and talk to the People I love and the People I choose to make my friends. The idea of God doesn't make me feel anything and I can't see God or touch God or talk to God.
- Have you ever tried to open yourself up to the idea of faith? ... I want you to stop intellectualizing it and try to open yourself to it.
- I've never believed in God, not even as a little Kid. I'm not going to start now.

~ James Frey, " A Million Little Pieces"

Does everyone feel this way? When I was young, I was perpetually overconfident or insecure. Either I felt completely useless, unattractive, and worthless, or that I was pretty much a success, and everything I did was bound to succeed. When I was confident, I could overcome the hardest challenges. But all it took was the smallest setback for me to be sure that I was utterly worthless. Regaining my self-confidence had nothing to do with success; every goal I set myself, every recognition I craved made anything I actually did seem paltry by comparison, and whether I experienced it as a failure or triumph was utterly dependent on my mood.

~ Bernhard Schlink, "The Reader"

One is often told it is a very wrong thing to attack religion, because religion makes men virtuous. So I am told, I have not noticed it ...

You find as you look around the world that every single bit of progress in humane feeling, every improvement in the criminal law, every step toward dimunition of war, every step toward better treatment of the colored races, or every mitigation of slavery, every moral progress that there has been in the world, has been consistently opposed by the organized churches of the world ...

My own view of religion is that of Lucretius. I regard it as a disease born of fear and as a source of untold misery to the human race. I cannot, however, deny that it has made some contributions to civilization. It helped in early days to fix the calendar; and it caused Egyptian priests to chronicle eclipses with such care that in time they become able to predict them. These two services I am prepared to acknowledge, but I do not know of any other.

~ Bertrand Russell, "Why I Am Not A Christian"
taken from Jon Krakauer's "Under the Banner of Heaven"