Inside I'm Dancing

Don't give it up. You can't give it up. Shit, you've got the whole world in your hands.

Sure it's dancing! What do you think I'm doing inside?

But how do you learn to be responsible? You live in the world. You make your own decisions. You make your own mistakes.

Take a letter, Michael. To Dublin City Council. "Dear Sir or Madam. As wheelchair users with suicidal intentions, I must protest at a lack of facilities. None of the bridges are equipped with easy parapet access, thus curtailing the rights of the disabled to throw themselves in.

— Have you no respect for the others?
— They haven't earned my respect.

A right must exist independently of its exercise.

It'll all end in tears.

Rory O'Shea. Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. Besides the full vocal range, I have the use of two fingers of my right hand, sufficient for self-propulsion and self-abuse. You can shake me hand or kiss me arse; but don't expect me to reciprocate.

— How long you been living in places like this?
— All my life.
— All your life? What crime did you commit?
— Unarmed robbery.

— I love you.
— I'm sorry, Michael, but...
— Do you have any feelings for me?
— Michael, I'm paid to do what I do for you. That's my job. That isn't love. And what you feel for me, that isn't love either. It's gratitude. I like working for you, but... it is just a job. There isn't anything else going on here, Michael, do you understand? There isn't anything else going on.