““THOMAS Can I have your name? RICHARD It's yours. THOMAS Now, look RICHARD It's no earthly Use to me. I travel light; as light, That is, as a man can travel who will Still carry his body around because Of its sentimental value. Flesh Weighs like a thousand years, and every morning Wakes heavier for an intake of uproariously Comical dreams which smell of henbane. Guts, humours, ventricles, nerves, fibres And fat—the arterial labyrinth, body's hell. Still, it was the first thing my mother gave me, God rest her soul.””
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