Mr. Magorium: [to Molly, about dying] When King Lear dies in Act V, do you know what Shakespeare has written? [Molly shakes her head] He's written "He dies." That's all, nothing more. No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential work of dramatic literature is "He dies." It takes Shakespeare, a genius, to come up with "He dies." And yet every time I read those two words, I find myself overwhelmed with dysphoria. And I know it's only natural to be sad, but not because of the words "He dies." But because of the life we saw prior to the words. [pause, walks over to Molly] I've lived all five of my acts, Mahoney, and I am not asking you to be happy that I must go. I'm only asking that you turn the page, continue reading... and let the next story begin. And if anyone asks what became of me, you relate my life in all its wonder, and end it with a simple and modest "He died."Mahoney: [starting to sob] I love you.Mr. Magorium: I love you, too. [picks Molly up, sighs heavily] Your life is an occasion. Rise to it.
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