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Quote by Daniel Nayeri

“Another way to say it is that everybody is dying and going to die of something. And if you're not spending your life on the stuff you believe, then what are you even doing? What is the point of the whole thing? It's a tough question, because most people haven't picked anything worthwhile.”

Quote by Daniel Nayeri

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Everything Sad Is Untrue

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Daniel Nayeri

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“It's so weird the way people started smoking again," said Sailor. "You might not know this, but everyone stopped smoking for years and years. And then, boom." "What's your theory?" Again, I knew she'd have one. We loved our theories. "My theory is people decided everything else was fucked, so it didn't even matter anymore. They might as well kill themselves in the manner of their own choosing.”

“Oh, we talked about CAT scan results and prostate-specific antigen levels and, among ourselves, we acknowledged that this was serious, that probably he wouldn't be around next Christmas. But we never, ever, talked about the process of his dying and how we were going to manage it. We never talked about how we would care for him, how we could keep him at home, how we might patch up any tears in our relationships with him, or how we might make his last days more comfortable. We never asked him about his fears, his needs, or his wishes so we never knew how he felt, except for what he revealed in one or two brief comments he made during those final days. We never talked about what we were about to lose, how that loss would occur, how we would say good-bye, or how very much we would miss him.”

“On the table in the center of the room stood a fake Christmas tree, and as she chose a seat in the corner so she could plug in her phone, she remembered it was Maggie Woodwell who'd hoped Ned would make it through Christmas for the sake of their kids. She didn't want his passing to ruin the holiday forever, a fear Kitzi understood, but, cruel as it was, maybe because she'd almost lost Martin, she'd come to accept that death shadowed every day. She'd once thought she'd never get used to it, yet how many times had she waited like this while her friends said their final goodbyes? It was her specialty, it seemed.”

“My charge's wife swept in, set some clean towels on the love seat, went rushing back out again. The stacked towels toppled off the love seat. All but one. The fallen towels landed in a heap of plastic detritus from his various medications, near a set of fresh, folded pajamas, which he now would never wear, and a stack of books he now would never read. Everything in the room was touched with the chaos that disrupted the operating energy of a household at such a time and showed that, all along, the appearance of control had been an illusion.”