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Record My Mind: Banal Records of a Pedestrian Life

Suffering and evil overwhelm me and I stew in my own juice. 

Monday, March 14, 2005

3/14/2005 01:26:00 am - Life: A Quiet Crackle of Popping Pods


Following the theme of death in my previous posts on Lin Yutang and Philip Larkin, Julian Barnes describes another haunting metaphor from Alphonso Daudet
, another forgotten writer like Lin Yutang, on the transience of life:

He had no illusions about immortality. He and Goncourt had discussed the matter in 1891. Goncourt outlined his own beliefs: that death means complete annihilation, that we are mere ephemeral gatherings of matter, and that even if there were a God, expecting him to provide a second existence for every single one of us would be laying far too great a book-keeping job on Him. Daudet agreed with all this, and then recounted to Goncourt a dream he had once had, in which he was walking through a field of broom. All around him there was the soft background noise of seed-pods exploding. Our lives, he had concluded, amount to no more than this: just a quiet crackle of popping pods.




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