"In my mind and in my heart, I feel okay. I cannot complain that I haven't lived long enough, but I'd like to live longer"
About this Quote
There’s a hard-earned calm in Freddy Fender’s phrasing, the kind that only sounds simple if you’ve never had to fight for it. “In my mind and in my heart, I feel okay” isn’t a Hallmark reassurance; it’s a musician’s inventory check: head and chest, thought and feeling, both still steady. He isn’t claiming happiness so much as steadiness, a modest victory after a life that included spectacular success, cultural pigeonholing, and public setbacks.
The next line does the real work. “I cannot complain that I haven't lived long enough” lands like a shrug aimed at fate. Fender was a working-class Tejano artist who crossed borders - stylistic and literal - and that experience echoes here: gratitude without sentimentality. He knows the narrative people want from a late-life quote, the tidy moral of “I’ve had a good run.” He gives it, but he won’t let it turn into surrender.
Then comes the twist that keeps the whole thing human: “but I’d like to live longer.” It’s blunt, almost disarmingly unpoetic, which is why it hits. No metaphors, no spiritual bargaining, no performance of bravado. Just appetite. It suggests an artist who still feels unfinished - not in the tragic genius way, but in the everyday way of someone who still wants more mornings, more songs, more time with whatever he loves.
The subtext is a refusal to let gratitude be used as a muzzle. Fender models a quieter kind of dignity: accepting the life you’ve had while insisting, without apology, that you still want another verse.
The next line does the real work. “I cannot complain that I haven't lived long enough” lands like a shrug aimed at fate. Fender was a working-class Tejano artist who crossed borders - stylistic and literal - and that experience echoes here: gratitude without sentimentality. He knows the narrative people want from a late-life quote, the tidy moral of “I’ve had a good run.” He gives it, but he won’t let it turn into surrender.
Then comes the twist that keeps the whole thing human: “but I’d like to live longer.” It’s blunt, almost disarmingly unpoetic, which is why it hits. No metaphors, no spiritual bargaining, no performance of bravado. Just appetite. It suggests an artist who still feels unfinished - not in the tragic genius way, but in the everyday way of someone who still wants more mornings, more songs, more time with whatever he loves.
The subtext is a refusal to let gratitude be used as a muzzle. Fender models a quieter kind of dignity: accepting the life you’ve had while insisting, without apology, that you still want another verse.
Quote Details
| Topic | Mortality |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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