I have always wanted a bunny and I'll always have a rabbit the

The words of Amy Sedaris — “I have always wanted a bunny and I’ll always have a rabbit the rest of my life” — appear at first to be whimsical, even childlike, a simple confession of affection for a beloved creature. Yet beneath their gentle surface lies a testament to constancy, love, and the human longing for companionship that is pure and unchanging. Sedaris, known for her humor and wit, reveals here a truth that transcends her own life: that the simplest joys — the warmth of a small creature, the devotion of care, the continuity of tenderness — are often the most enduring treasures of the human heart. In her love for a rabbit, we see not mere sentimentality, but the ancient yearning to be connected to the innocence of life itself.

To always want a bunny, as she says, is to express a love that is both gentle and steadfast. The rabbit, across cultures and ages, has long symbolized fertility, renewal, and tenderness — a creature of quiet strength that thrives in stillness. In Chinese tradition, the rabbit is a sign of peace and longevity, while in Western lore, it is tied to spring and rebirth, the return of life after the cold silence of winter. To bind one’s heart to such a symbol is to declare allegiance to the forces of renewal and tenderness that keep the soul from hardening in the face of life’s harshness. Sedaris, by making this vow — to always keep a rabbit — commits herself to a life anchored by gentleness, by the daily practice of care, and by the humility of loving something small and vulnerable.

In this, her statement reflects one of the oldest lessons of humanity: that love for the innocent redeems the weary heart. The ancients knew that compassion for animals was not a lesser virtue, but a mirror of divine mercy. The philosopher Pythagoras taught that to be kind to animals was to be kind to the soul itself, for cruelty toward the small reveals cruelty toward the self. Likewise, Saint Francis of Assisi saw in every creature — bird, lamb, and hare — a reflection of God’s grace. His heart was moved by the fragile beauty of life in all forms, and through his gentleness he became powerful beyond measure. Sedaris, knowingly or not, walks this same path of quiet sanctity. Her devotion to her rabbits is not childish; it is spiritual — an act of preservation in a world too quick to discard softness.

There is also a deeper psychological truth in her words. The world often demands that we trade tenderness for toughness, that we abandon childish affection for the appearance of strength. Yet the wise know that strength without tenderness becomes cruelty, and intelligence without compassion becomes arrogance. To hold fast to something small and loving — a pet, a garden, a ritual — is to keep alive the sacred flame of empathy. Amy Sedaris’s lifelong attachment to her rabbits is a defiance of cynicism, a refusal to let the world strip her of her sense of wonder. It is a declaration that to love unconditionally, even something small, is to remain truly human.

History offers many such examples. The great writer Leo Tolstoy, who once sought meaning in war and fame, found peace only when he returned to the simple rhythms of rural life — walking among animals, caring for them, and finding in their innocence a reflection of divine truth. Similarly, Beatrix Potter, the creator of Peter Rabbit, turned her affection for animals into art that continues to awaken gentleness in the hearts of generations. These figures, like Sedaris, understood that love for the meek and voiceless is a form of resistance against the hardness of the world. Through their care for the small, they cultivated greatness of soul.

There is something profoundly eternal in Sedaris’s promise to “always have a rabbit.” It speaks of the human desire to hold on to what is beautiful and fleeting — to make permanence out of fragility. A rabbit’s life is brief, yet its joy and trust are timeless. To continually choose to bring such a creature into one’s home, knowing it will one day be lost, is to embrace both love and impermanence with open hands. It is to say: I will love again, though I know it will hurt; I will care again, though I know loss awaits. That, in truth, is the highest form of love — not possession, but persistence; not denial of mortality, but courage to love in spite of it.

The lesson of Amy Sedaris’s words is simple yet profound: guard your tenderness. In a world that praises ambition, cynicism, and self-preservation, choose instead to cultivate gentleness, constancy, and affection for life in all its forms. Let there always be a “rabbit” in your life — something that keeps your heart soft, your hands nurturing, and your spirit humble.

Therefore, let her words echo as a gentle commandment to every soul: never outgrow your capacity to love small things. Keep something living near you that depends upon your care, whether it be a creature, a plant, or a passion. For in caring for what is small, we become great. And as long as we nurture what is gentle, even in a hard world, we remain unbroken — eternal students of compassion, forever young in the heart.