Firefly

Mal:
That poor bastard you took off my ship. He looked right into the face of it—was made to stare.

Harken:
"It"?

Mal:
That darkness. Kind of darkness you can't even imagine. Blacker than the space it moves through.

Harken:
Very poetic.

Mal:
They made him watch. He probably tried to turn away, and they wouldn't let him. You call him a survivor? He's not. A man comes up against that kind of will, the only way to deal with it, I suspect, is to become it.