“Le Suicidé” by Edouard Manet

By “Bob”

These words seem to strike a nerve among men:

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,

We people on the pavement looked at him 

He was a gentleman from sole to crown,

Clean favored, and imperially slim.…

And he was rich – yes, richer than a king –

And admirably schooled in every grace:

In fine, we thought that he was everything

To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,

And went without the meat, and cursed the bread

And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,

Went home and put a bullet through his head. Read the rest of this entry →