Whenever Richard Cory went down town,

We people on the pavement looked at him:

He was a gentleman from sole to crown,

Clean-favoured 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 that 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 in his head.

Dieses Gedicht beschreibt sehr eindrucksvoll den "Verlust der Glücksfähigkeit in unserer Kultur".
Untertitel des Buchs "Auf der Suche nach dem verlorenen Glück"  von Jean Liedloff

Richard Cory wird bewundert. Und der Autor kann kaum verstehen, dass so ein Mensch Selbstmord begeht.