
Ég verð að fara að tempra þetta dauðaþema sem hefur óvart myndast hér. En fyrst þetta.
John Cleese hélt fallega kveðjuræðu í minningarathöfn vinar síns Grahams Chapmans, sem hafði látist úr krabbameini 48 ára gamall:
… and I guess that we’re all thinking how sad it is that a man of such talent, such capability for kindness, of such unusual intelligence, should now so suddenly be spirited away at the age of only forty-eight, before he’d achieved many of the things of which he was capable, and before he’d had enough fun.
Well, I feel that I should say, “Nonsense. Good riddance to him, the freeloading bastard, I hope he fries.”
Þetta sagði hann vini sínum til heiðurs, og útskýrði það vel: „Anything for him but mindless good taste.“