Tuesdays with Morrie: Chapters 1–7

No one there knew he was a prominent doctor of sociology, with years of experience as a college professor and several well-respected books. They just thought he was some old nut.

No one there knew he was a prominent doctor of sociology, with years of experience as a college professor and several well-respected books. They just thought he was some old nut.

At a birthday party for a friend, he stumbled inexplicably.

But my old professor had made a profound decision, one he began to construct the day he came out of the doctor's office with a sword hanging over his head.

Since everyone was going to die, he could be of great value, right? He could be research. A human textbook. Study me in my slow and patient demise.

After a while, he had more than fifty of these “aphorisms,” which he shared with his friends.

Several of Morrie’s friends and family members had gathered to meet Koppel, and when the famous man entered the house, they buzzed with excitement — all except Morrie, who wheeled himself forward, raised his eyebrows, and interrupted the clamor with his high, singsong voice.

I decided I’m going to live — or at least try to live — the way I want, with dignity, with courage, with humor, with composure.

He asked about the humility that death induced.

What, Koppel asked, did Morrie dread the most about his slow, insidious decay?

He talks instead of chewing, laughs with his mouth open, delivers a passionate thought through a mouthful of egg salad, the little yellow pieces spewing from his teeth.

"A tension of opposites, like a pull on a rubber band. And most of us live somewhere in the middle."

In a strange way, I envied the quality of Morrie's time even as I lamented its diminishing supply.

In a strange way, I envied the quality of Morrie's time even as I lamented its diminishing supply.

He speaks of the alienation of youth and the need for “connectedness" with the society around me.