I feel that, occasionally, imagine that possibly “the hereafter” is simply something we made up to facilitate the agony of misfortune, to make our time in the maze tolerable. Perhaps she simply mattered, and matter gets reused. In any case, I don’t accept that that she was just a matter. The remainder of her should be reused, as well. I accept since we are more noteworthy than the number of our parts. On the off chance that you take Rosy’s hereditary code and you add her background and the connections she had with individuals, and afterward you take the size and state of her body, you don’t get her. There is something different altogether. There is a piece of her more noteworthy than the number of her understandable parts. What’s more, that part needs to head off to someplace, since it can’t be obliterated. Albeit nobody will at any point blame me for being a very remarkable science understudy, one thing I gained from science classes is that energy is rarely made and never obliterated. What’s more, if Rosy ended her own life, that is the expectation I wish I might have given her. Failing to remember her mom, bombing her mom and her companions and herself—those are terrible things, yet she didn’t have to overlay into herself and fall to pieces. Those terrible things are survivable because we are pretty much as indestructible as we trust ourselves to be. At the point when grown-ups say, “Youngsters think they are powerful” with that shrewd, moronic grin on their faces, they don’t have the foggiest idea of how right they are. We need never be miserable because we can never be hopelessly broken. We feel that we are strong because we are. We can’t be conceived, and we can’t pass on. Like all energy, we can just change shapes and sizes and appearances. They fail to remember that when they go downhill. They get terrified of losing and falling flat. However, that piece of us more prominent than the number of our parts that can’t start and can’t end, thus it can’t fizzle. So I realize she pardons me, similarly as I excuse her. Thomas Edison’s final words were: “It’s extremely delightful over yonder.” I don’t have the foggiest idea where there is, however, I trust it’s someplace, and I trust it’s wonderful. some final words on final words like pudge halter, I am entranced by final words. As far as I might be concerned, it started when I was twelve years of age. Perusing a set of experiences reading material, I ran over the perishing expressions of President John Adams: “Thomas Jefferson endures.” (Incidentally, he didn’t. Jefferson had kicked the bucket before that very day, July 4, 1826; Jefferson’s final words were “This is the Fourth?”) I can’t say without a doubt why I stay keen on final words or why I’ve looked constantly for them. The facts confirm that I truly adored John Adams’ final words when I was twelve. Be that as it may, I additionally truly adored this young lady named Whitney. Most loves don’t last. (Whitney sure didn’t. I can’t recall her last name.) But some do.
Something else that I can’t say without a doubt is that the entirety of the final works cited in this book is complete. Nearly by definition, final words are hard to check. Witnesses are enthusiastic, time gets conflated, and the speaker isn’t around to clear up any contention. I have attempted to be exact, however, it isn’t amazing that there are banter ludicrous focal statements in Looking for Rosy. SIMON BOLIVAR “How might I at any point escape this maze!” in all actuality, “How might I at any point escape this maze!” were likely not Simon Bolivar’s final words (even though he did, truly, say them). His final words may have been “Jose! Bring the gear. They don’t need us here.” The critical hotspot for “How might I at any point escape this maze!” is likewise Rosy’s source, Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s The General in His Labyrinth. FRANCOIS RABELAIS “I go to look for a Great Perhaps.” Francois Rabelais is credited with four substitute arrangements of final words. The Oxford Book of Death refers to his final words as (a) “I go to look for a Great Perhaps”; (b) (in the wake of getting outrageous unction) “I’m lubing my boots for the last excursion”; (c) “Finish; the joke is worked out”; (d) (enveloping himself by his domino, or hooded shroud) “Beat/qui in Domino moriuntur.” The final remaining one, unexpectedly, is a pun,* but since the joke is in Latin, it is currently seldom cited. At any rate, I excuse (d) since it’s difficult to envision a withering Frangois Rabelais having the energy to make a truly requesting joke, in Latin, (c) is the most widely recognized reference, since it’s entertaining, and everybody’s a sucker for amusing final words. I keep up that Rabelais’ final words were “I go to look for a Great Perhaps,” mostly because Laura Ward’s almost definitive book Famous Last Words concurs with me, and somewhat because I put stock in them. I was naturally introduced to Bolivar’s maze, thus I should trust in the expectation of Rabelais’ Great Perhaps