They say it is suicide and the world is in shock. I am not. It is not really that difficult to understand, as Hemingway wrote:
What if you can no longer measure up, no longer be involved, if you have used up all your fantasies? A champion cannot retire like anyone else. How the hell can a writer retire? The public won’t let him. When a man loses the center of his being, then he loses his being. Retire? It’s the filthiest word in the English language. It’s backing up into the grave. If I can’t exist on my own terms, then existence is impossible. That is how I have lived and must live—or not live.
[excerpts from A Moveable Feast, the unfinished memoir of Ernest Hemingway, edited and published posthumously]
There, it’s all been said and done – “If I can’t exist on my own terms, then existence is impossible. That is how I have lived and must live—or not live.”
But we will forever be grateful to Robin Williams the legend, as we are to Hemingway, for the gifts of life they shared with us. Rest in peace, Captain!