This life is a hospital in which every patient is possessed with a desire to change his bed.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
A hospital is a good place to set various dilemmas.
Dying in the sanitary environment of a hospital is a relatively new concept. In the late 19th century, dying at a hospital was reserved for people who had nothing and no one. Given the choice, a person wanted to die at home in their bed, surrounded by friends and family.
In the beds which the piety of the public has prepared on every side, stricken men await the verdict of fate.
I want to walk into a room, be it a hospital for the dying or a hospital for the sick children, and feel that I am needed. I want to do, not just to be.
For some reason, I wrote about the bed we slept in when I was a kid. It was a half-acre of misery, that bed, sagging in the middle, red hair sticking out of the mattress, the spring gone and the fleas leaping all over the place.
What a magical thing is the bed, and what a vulnerable, innocent creature is the sleeping human - the human who never looks more truthful or pitiful or benign; the curled-up, childlike dreaming soul who has for a few hours become an angel adrift.
The patient decides when it's best to go.
I don't really like hospitals that much. People are sick; sometimes it can be depressing. There's people going through a lot of pain in there. It has that funny smell.
Hospitals are very extreme places - you can be in a maternity room one minute, and by someone's bedside as they're dying the next.
This is the very womb and bed of enormity.