Now, all my words are dry. I can't think anymore. The pair of eyes who read my soul...cursed thieves, I would say. My whole identity was in those words: now it's gone. I'm dead again.

“A man's perishing here, a man's vanishing from his own sight here, and can't control himself--what sort of wedding can there be!”

Bloody hell. Bloody hell. Bloody hell. Bloody hell. Bloody hell.