I feel a sudden clear focus and perspective. There is no time for anything inessential. I must focus on myself, my work and my friends. I shall no longer look at “NewsHour” every night. I shall no longer pay any attention to politics or arguments about global warming.I have had an intercourse with the world, the special intercourse of writers and readers.
This is not indifference but detachment....
I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written. I have had an intercourse with the world, the special intercourse of writers and readers.
Above all, I have been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure.
ADDED: Oliver Sacks — who "goes home and eats fish with rice - every evening," "doesn't go out much," and has "a dread of social occasions" — "has never married, and has apparently been celibate for years."
In the comments to this post, Chris Low Chris Low points us to this fabulous picture: "Oliver Sacks on a motorcycle in 1961."
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27 comments:
"Depend upon it, sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully."
- Samuel Johnson
<New York Times writers don't have special intercourse with their readers... they fuck them, hard.
That is a wonderful sentiment, openly and honestly expressed. Its lasting effect is on the living.
But robots do not understand. IANAR.
I thought one was allotted three score and 10.
Death comes to everyone. My contemporaries are now, occasionally, starting to die. But adult children of my friends have not yet died though -- I think that's when one well and truly has to deal with mortality.
People who knew me as a young child -- childhood friends, family -- are a dwindling few now. Just my Dad and an Aunt and all my older cousins.
Oliver Sachs is a wonderful man who did us all a great service by translating science into plain English in a delighted, whitty way. For those who have only seen the bearded, older gentleman, here is is in Greenwich Village in 1961: Oliver Sacks on a motorcycle in 1961
'Ignorance is Bliss's post is uncommonly ignorant.
A perfect example of the negative consequences a comment section engenders.
A literate person would know that Oliver Sacks is not a
New York Times writer.
I hope he uses some of his remaining time to bang some hot young chicks. Probably did not do enough of that in his life. Nothing touches closer to the Universe than banging a hot young chick.
And I hope there are a lot of hot young chicks willing to bang him in his remaining time. That would be good of them.
It doesn't have to be anal.
I am Laslo.
This man is one of the best writers I have ever read. He has this insight into the workings of the brain and soul from his years as a neurologist, observing people with specific brain injuries and how that affected their reasoning or perceptions. If anyone hasn't read one of his books, you really should read one ("The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat" is a good one to start with). He also wrote "Awakenings" on which the movie was based (Robert Deniro and Robbin Williams).
"For those who have only seen the bearded, older gentleman, here is is in Greenwich Village in 1961: Oliver Sacks on a motorcycle in 1961."
He looks like something out of a Tom of Finland drawing.
81 years old is an age when a lot of old men die, I'm thinking he doesn't like that, doesn't like being average.
@BarrySanders20: It is a wonderful sentiment but as Larry J points out, it's hardly original. Sometimes truisms bear repeating over and over.
Chris Low
thank you for the link
"Oliver Sacks on a motorcycle in 1961."
Great picture!
Oliver Sacks has been one of my favorite writers for a long time. "The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat" is one of the best books I ever read and had a huge influence on my thinking about how to do nonfiction writing.
How many men, on their deathbeds, rue the fact that they banged entirely too many young hot chicks in their life?
Even Bill Clinton, on his last breath, will most likely think to himself "I did alright, but I might have missed a few opportunities here and there." And he's banged a LOT of chicks.
If banging two young hot chicks at once meant one less Sacks essay, would that essay have mattered much, anyway?
Unless that essay was "The Teenager Who Mistook His Sock for a Vagina."
I am Laslo.
Sacks is a great writer. But he is also a celibate Loner that used his writing to have intercourse. Sad to hear he has reached the end.
I like to think Althouse's ADDED "..."has never married, and has apparently been celibate for years" was inspired by the poignancy of my comments.
You are welcome.
I am Laslo.
Although, considering the celibacy, the essay should've been:
"The Writer Who Mistook His Sock for a Vagina."
Because sometimes men masturbate into socks. In such cases the sock is a stand-in for a vagina. Or other orifice, depends on the predilection of the masturbator.
I hope this clears up matters.
I am Laslo.
"He not busy being born is busy dying".
Bob Dylan
Brian Williams once told David Letterman that he was actually Laslo Spatula.
Why should we read about the man / woman / horse who banged hot young chicks or even about the man / trannie / python who did not bang hot young chicks? I'm sure they are coming but stories about that should have trigger warning so they can be avoided as if they were Joe Biden. They could have key word "Bidenette"
"...horse who banged hot young chicks...trigger warning..."
I believe it was early feminist Roy Rogers who pioneered the Trigger warning.
Being the cynic I am I thought this was another self-congratulatory piece by yet another of the NYT's narcissists. The Dylan quote captured my mood exactly.
Those who pointed out the Doctor's talents have led me to be interested in what he has had to say. Thanks.
He's a fabulous writer and thinker, and he will be missed.
He concludes this essay by stressing his gratitude that he has "been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure." Part of my own privilege as a thinking animal has been reading his books, and thinking about them and talking about them with friends.
He'll be missed.
I'd known of Oliver Sacks for a while from the odd article here and there but never read any of his books until he published "Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain". Like what might be a surprising number of scientists, I am an amateur musician. While I spend quite a bit of time on practice and playing, I cannot resist delving into the science of music.
I look at both the hard science, like the development of music as a form and temperament, and the human science, the psychology and meaning. This book is in the latter category. I really liked it and, by extension, I liked him.
Everybody knows they are going to die, especially so at 81. There is a difference in knowing that and having your boarding pass in hand.
Also remember the longer you live, the longer you are expected to live. The average male lifespan may be 76 but if you get to 81 the average guy will get to almost 89.
No matter that the sentiment isn't exactly original. In any of its myriad forms, it speaks to those of us who know we're dying.
Yes, you can say that we all know we're going to all die. But there's knowing and then there's knowing. This is a very difficult thing to convey to those without the knowledge of their actual dying, and Sacks, who I've long admired, expresses it beautifully.
Of course, Dr. Johnson's pithy observation is a wonderful condensation of the concept! I have a friend who does scrimshaw, and she etched that quote on a piano key when she got the news of my upcoming demise. As a two time breast cancer survivor, she knew I'd get it from a new and darkly humorous perspective.
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