Always read something that will make you look good if you die in

“Always read something that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it.” So quipped P. J. O’Rourke, a humorist of sharp wit and hidden wisdom, whose jest conceals a truth far deeper than laughter alone. At first glance, his words seem a playful warning against frivolity—a call to choose one’s reading with dignity lest death find you mid-sentence in foolishness. But beneath the mirth lies a profound lesson about character, mindfulness, and legacy. For what one reads, thinks, and feeds the mind with, becomes the measure of the soul itself. To “read something worthy” is not only to guard one’s reputation, but to cultivate a spirit fit for eternity.

In the ancient manner, let us hear beyond the surface. The wise of old knew that the mind is a temple, and every word we read, every thought we harbor, is an offering laid upon its altar. The philosopher Marcus Aurelius wrote that the soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts. To read nobly is to think nobly, and to think nobly is to live rightly. O’Rourke’s humor masks this same truth: that a life spent in trivial reading, idle distraction, and shallow amusement is a life unguarded—a life that, when ended suddenly, reveals the poverty of its pursuits. But the one who feeds his mind with the food of wisdom—with virtue, courage, and truth—dies at peace, for his mind remains radiant even as his body falls.

Consider the tale of Boethius, the Roman philosopher who wrote The Consolation of Philosophy while imprisoned and awaiting execution. Surrounded by darkness, stripped of power, Boethius turned not to lamentation, but to learning. He filled his final days reading and writing of the eternal harmony between fortune and fate. When the sword fell, he was still mid-communion with wisdom—and so, though he died, his words lived on. His life and death teach us what O’Rourke’s jest conceals: that one must live and read as though every page might be the last, for the book we leave open at death is the testament of our soul.

O’Rourke’s quote also reminds us that what we choose to absorb shapes who we become. In a world awash with noise and distraction, to read meaningfully is an act of rebellion. The shallow seek laughter that fades; the wise seek words that echo. Each page we turn either strengthens the spirit or dulls it. To fill the mind with gossip and vanity is to weaken the heart; to fill it with philosophy, poetry, and truth is to forge a light that guides through chaos. Thus, the saying becomes a mirror for our inner discipline: What would I want to be found reading when death comes quietly behind me?

But the quote is not only about books. It is about how one lives each moment. To “read something good” means to engage with life in a way that ennobles, to occupy oneself with what uplifts, rather than what diminishes. Every action, every conversation, every thought is a kind of reading, a participation in the great text of existence. If death were to interrupt you now—what would your soul be found reading? A page of kindness, or bitterness? A passage of creation, or complaint? O’Rourke, with the slyness of the sage disguised as the jester, invites us to live with this mindfulness, this reverence for the moment’s worth.

The lesson, therefore, is twofold: first, that we should guard the mind as we would a sacred scroll, choosing what enters it with care; and second, that we should live each hour as though our story might end upon that line. Choose to read what uplifts the spirit. Choose to learn what endures. Seek books—and lives—that teach courage, compassion, and wonder. Let your thoughts be your companions in death as they are in life, and choose them well.

So, my listener, let this teaching take root: read with purpose, live with meaning, die with dignity. Let no idle thing fill the chambers of your mind. For when the last hour comes—and it will come without herald—you should be found engaged not in folly, but in truth, not in vanity, but in beauty. Whether the page is from scripture, poetry, or the quiet wisdom of your own reflections, may it be worthy of your final breath. Then, even if you die mid-sentence, your story will have already said everything it needed to say.