When faced with the abyss before you, is there only emptiness or is there a new beginning?
This is an intensely personal examination of Wilde's journey during incarceration. It follows the Stages of Grief and intertwines the religious with art. It has some incredible observations that made me examine my own thoughts and assumptions.
But it is a very unimaginative nature that only cares for people on their pedestals. A pedestal may be a very unreal thing. A pillory is a terrific reality. They should have known also how to interpret sorrow better. I have said that behind sorrow there is always sorrow. It were wiser still to say that behind sorrow there is always a soul. And to mock at a soul in pain is a dreadful thing. In the strangely simple economy of the world people only get what they give, and to those who have not enough imagination to penetrate the mere outward of things, and feel pity, what pity can be given save that of scorn?
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