If you make an analysis of it (as Mark Twain did), what you call your life is almost entirely the ideas you privately and almost constantly think about. The show’s in your head, ideas being born, being misplaced, being forgotten, all of which is unknowable to others, and inexpressible. What, then, is there for you to miss when you die? Mainly, the thing that is the biggest time consumer of your existence: your private show in your head.
What a wee little part of a person’s life are his acts and his words! His real life is led in his head, and is known to none but himself. . . . His acts and his words are merely the visible thin crust of his world . . . and they are so trifling a part of his bulk! A mere skin enveloping it. The mass of him is hidden – it and its volcanic fires that toss and boil, and never rest, night nor day. These are his life, and they are not written, and cannot be written. . . .
(Quoted from “Riverboat Rambler,” by Garrison Keillor, a review of Autobiography of Mark Twain, Volume 1, University of California Press, 2010. In: The New York Times Book Review. Sunday, December 19, 2010.)
For a brief biography of Mark Twain, click here. For images of or relating to Mark Twain, click here. For a brief biography of Garrison Keillor, click here.
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