We leapt onstage and examined what it felt like to speak on stage in different areas of the stage.
Philo says
I will work—work—work! Not a voice to help me—not a smile of hope—not a touch of sympathy.
... Perhaps the time is not ripe for larger knowledge. Nature and the Divinity that guides her must protect their new evolving creatures. A too sudden revelation and they might perish from sheer wonder....
Yes, truth must come softened, as a dream, to the man child's brain. Its naked light would sere and blind him forever....
But to me it has been given to see—to hear—and keep sane in the light. Oh, from what planet is the call?
From what one of the hundred million spheres? How many centuries has it been sent outward to the deaf, the dumb, and the blind?
And what is the word?
Is it Hail? Help? Hope?...
Or is it an answer? An answer to some signal of mine? How shall I know?
... How shall I know?
Chris says
You call me that?
You, whom I'd lay down my life for? I'm no slacker when I hear the real call of duty.
Shall I desert the cause that needs me--you--Sister--home? For a fancied glory?
Am I to take up the cause of a lot of kings and politicians who play with men's souls, as if they are cards
--dealing them out, a hand here, in the Somme
--a hand there, in Palestine
--a hand there, in the Alps
--a hand there, in Russia
--and because the cards don't match well, call it a misdeal, gather them up, throw them in the discard, and call for a new deal of a million human, suffering souls? And I must be the Deuce of Spades?
Stanton says
Strictly speaking, there are no sure cures in this disease, Mr. Sloan.
When we permit a patient to return to take up his or her activities in the world, the patient is what we call an arrested case.
The disease is overcome, quiescent; the wound is healed over. It's then up to the patient to so take care of himself that this condition remains permanent. It isn't hard for them to do this, usually.
Just ordinary, bull-headed common sense- added to what they've learned here- is enough for their safety.
And the precautions we teach them to take don't diminish their social usefulness in the slightest, either, as I can prove by our statistics of former patients.
It's rather early in the morning for statistics, though.
Mrs. Patrick says
You're a cruel woman—a hard, insolent woman! I knew what I was doing!
What do you know about it?
About me? I didn't go to the Outside. I was left there. I'm only—trying to get along. Everything that can hurt me I want buried—buried deep.
Spring is here. This morning I knew it.
Spring—coming through the storm—to take me—take me to hurt me.
That's why I couldn't bear— things that made me know I feel. You haven't felt for so long you don't know what it means! But I tell you, Spring is here!
And now you'd take that from me— the thing that made me know they would be buried in my heart—those things I can't live and know I feel.
You're more cruel than the sea!
'But other things are true beside the things you want to see!' Outside. Springs will come when I will not know that it is spring. What would there be for me but the Outside?
What was there for you?
What did you ever find after you lost the thing you wanted?