Tom of Bedlam: They made you forget how to feel, eh? Remember it now? Like everything new and the sun itself spinning behind your ribs, filling you up with silver. Like the way it was before they made robots out of us, sentenced to a life behind bars we're trained to set in place ourselves.
Tom of Bedlam: Ah, I feel a sadness on me, Dane. That's how the Irish people say it. In their language, you can't say, "I am sad," or "I am happy." They understood what we English have long forgot. We're not our sadness. We're not our happiness or our pain but our language hypnotizes us and traps us in little labelled boxes.
Rich, your gift was your death, wasn't it?
You fucker. If you have given us all of this with your death, what could you have given us with your life, man?
M'self, I will keep looking. And singing. And dancing. And loving.
Wow. I had three different people express, in different ways that my posting my reaction to Rich's death has made the growing pressure towards suicide or even just fugue become null and void.
That's pretty powerful.