Angels in America Part Two: PerestroikaEuropa: This is the tome of Immobility, of respite, of cessation. Drink of its bitter water once, Prophet, and never thirst again. Prior: I… can’t. I still want… My Blessing. Even sick. I want to be alive. Angel: You only think you do. Life is a habit with you. You have not seen what is to come. We have. What will the grim Unfolding of these Latter Days bring that you or any Being should wish to endure them? Death more plenteous than all Heaven has tears to mourn it. The slow dissolving of the Great Design, the spiralling apart of the Work of Eternity, the World and its beautiful particle logic. All collapsed. All dead, forever, in starless, moon-lorn onyx night. We are failing, failing, the Earth and the Angels. Look up, look up. It’s Not-to-be Time.