"O wonder!" he was saying; and his eyes shone, his face was brightly flushed. "How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is!" The flush suddenly deepened; he was thinking of Lenina, of an angel in bottle-green viscose, lustrous with youth and skin food, plump, benevolently smiling. His voice faltered. "O brave new world," he began, then-suddenly interrupted himself; the blood had left his cheeks; he was as pale as paper.

I couldn't help but feel like John the Savage quoting Shakespeare's The Tempest after coming across a Facebook page for my fourteen year old second cousin in support of his cancer battle; wall adorned with pictures of him lying in his hospital bed, morphine drip in arm.

O brave new world.

All the best, Connor.