"While I had often said that I wanted to die in bed, what I really meant was that in my old age I wanted to be stepped on by an elephant while making love"
About this Quote
Deathbed pieties get skewered here with a single, gleefully indecent image. Zelazny takes the most conventional wish in the book, “to die in bed,” and yanks it into the absurd: not peaceful, not dignified, not even coherent. The elephant is the punchline’s blunt instrument, but it’s also the mechanism of critique. It exposes how our public language around mortality is often a kind of social grooming - tidy, acceptable, pre-sanitized for polite company. When he says “what I really meant,” he’s mocking the gap between what we’re supposed to want and what we might actually crave: intensity, spectacle, narrative.
The line works because it weaponizes misdirection. The first clause invites a familiar sentiment (age, softness, closure). The second clause detonates it with a collision of eros and annihilation, as if Freud wandered into a circus. The elephant isn’t just random weirdness; it’s scale made literal. Old age becomes not a sunset but a stampede, and sex becomes less romance than defiant appetite. There’s bravado in insisting that desire doesn’t politely retire when the body starts failing.
Context matters: Zelazny, a science fiction and fantasy writer with a taste for mythic exaggeration and barbed humor, often treated identity and fate as playthings. This quip reads like an author’s shrug at the idea of a “proper” ending. If the world insists on writing your final scene, he’d rather rewrite it as something outrageous enough to be unmistakably his.
The line works because it weaponizes misdirection. The first clause invites a familiar sentiment (age, softness, closure). The second clause detonates it with a collision of eros and annihilation, as if Freud wandered into a circus. The elephant isn’t just random weirdness; it’s scale made literal. Old age becomes not a sunset but a stampede, and sex becomes less romance than defiant appetite. There’s bravado in insisting that desire doesn’t politely retire when the body starts failing.
Context matters: Zelazny, a science fiction and fantasy writer with a taste for mythic exaggeration and barbed humor, often treated identity and fate as playthings. This quip reads like an author’s shrug at the idea of a “proper” ending. If the world insists on writing your final scene, he’d rather rewrite it as something outrageous enough to be unmistakably his.
Quote Details
| Topic | Dark Humor |
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