Six Feet Under

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David: Maybe Emily Previn was autistic. I read an article once about a high-functioning autistic person who didn’t need people. She just had a job designing these big cattle slaughterhouses. At night, she came home and sat in a machine that made her feel like she was being hugged. And that was all the intimacy she needed.
Nate: That’s really upsetting.
Claire: I don’t see why this person has to be mentally ill just because she had a life that doesn’t conform to some familiar image that we have in our heads. Maybe she was living the life she wanted. A life without the hassle of other people.
Ruth: What kind of a life is that?


Olivier: [to Claire] You sit in such judgment of the world. How do you expect to ever be a part of it?


Nathaniel Sr.: You’re missing the point.
David: There is no point, that’s the point… Isn’t it?
Nathaniel Sr.: Don’t give me this phony existential bullshit, I expect better from you. The point’s right in front of your face.
David: Well, I’m sorry but I don’t see it.
Nathaniel Sr.: You aren’t even grateful, are you?
David: Grateful? For the worst fucking experience of my life?
Nathaniel Sr.: You hang onto your pain like it means something, like it’s worth something. Well, let me tell ‘ya, it’s not worth shit. Let it go. Infinite possibilities, and all he can do is whine.
David: Well, what am I supposed to do?
Nathaniel Sr.: What do you think? You can do anything, you lucky bastard, you’re alive! What’s a little pain compared to that?
David: It can’t be so simple.
Nathaniel Sr.: [putting his arm around David and pulling him closer] What if it is?


Nate: I just feel like all I do, all day long, is just manage myself, try to fuckin’ connect with people. But it’s like, no matter how much energy you pour into getting to the station on time, or getting on the right train, there’s still no fuckin’ guarantee that anybody’s gonna be there for you to pick you up when you get there.

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