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Richard Cory...

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i dont know how many of you are familiar with this poem, by Edwin Arlington Robinson, (i attatched it below this paragraph) in any event, why do you think this guy did it??? (i have a theory but i want to see what others think)

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 always quietly arrayed,

And he was always human when he talked;

But still he fluttered pulses when he said,

"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

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

And admirably schooled in every grace:

In fine, we thought 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.

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he sounds like he was covering up a deep-seated unhappiness or something,... like no matter what assets he had, he was missing one important aspect in his life that money can't buy.

Is this all the poem says?/? At times, i believe, people get lost in the moment and can fall victim to extreme acts for something very trivial. Maybe he didn't like the person he became (even though other people did), and had to do something about it


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