Elderism #46

At the end of her life, Flannery O’Connor, her lupus ever worse, was sequestered in her mother’s house in the backwoods Georgia that the writer had once hoped to flee. She was only able to write only a few hours a day. She said on her deathbed,

“‘My my I do like to work…I eat up that one hour like it was filet mignon.'”

(New York Review of Books)