And the tragedy is on

The rest is automatic. You don't need to lift a finger. The machine is in perfect order; it has been oiled ever since time began, and without friction. DEATH, TREASON, and SORROW are on the march; and they move in the wake of storm , of tears, of STILLNESS. Every kind of STILLNESS. The HUSH when the executioner's ax goes up at the end of the last act. The unbreathable SILENCE when, at the beginning of the play, the two lovers, their hearts bared, their bodies naked, stand for the first time FACE to FACE in the darkened room, to afraid to stir. The SILENCE inside you when the roaring crowd acclaims the winner - so that you think of a film without a sound track, mouths agape and no sound coming out of them, a clamor that is no more than a picture; and you, the VICTOR, already VANQUISHED, alone in the desert of your silence. that is TRAGEDY.

-Sophocles