People snare when I tell them that I’m an emotional prostitute. But after my rebuttal, they begin to realize that they are one too. Like me, they have pimped their emotions for the affections of another. Like me, they’ve gone through life tormented by the idea of living a happily ever after, not realizing that the ever after isn’t so happy.
«Non capisco, cos'è che vi preoccupa tanto?»
«Tutto, quando si tratta di voi: il parto, l'odio che provate per Charles, il pensiero che possiate non amarmi mai. Mi fate regredire. Mi fate dimenticare il coraggio. Quando sto con voi divento ciò che di più lontano esiste dall'essere un uomo.»
When a Tralfamadorian sees a corpse, all he thinks is that the dead person is in bad condition in the particular moment, but that the same person is just fine in plenty of other moments. Now, when I myself hear that somebody is dead, I simply shrug and say what the Tralfamadorians say about dead people, which is "So it goes.
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