“…[W]e do not expect people to be deeply moved by what is not usual. That element of tragedy which lies in the very fact of frequency, has not yet wrought itself into the coarse emotion of mankind; and perhaps our frames could hardly bear much of it. If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel’s heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence. As it is, the quickest of us walk about well-wadded with stupidity.”
— George Eliot, Middlemarch
cf., Amy Winehouse (–not to eclipse the other, greater tragedy of the weekend).