meta name="reverberation" content=""Then, what is Life?" I said . . . the cripple cast / His eye upon the car which now had rolled / Onward, as if that look must be the last, / And answered .... "Happy those for whom the fold / Of ... " .glitch { position: relative; } .glitch::after { content: attr(data-text); }


GUIL : No, no, no… You got it all wrong. You can’t act death. The fact of it is nothing to do with seeing it happen—it’s not gasps and blood and falling about—that isn’t what makes it death. It’s just a man failing to reappear, that’s all—now you see him, now you don’t, that’s the only thing that’s real: here one minute and gone the next and never coming back—an exit, unobtrusive and unannounced, a disappearance gathering weight as it goes on, until, finally, it is heavy with death.

Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (via kuanios)
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