Krennic contemplates the dizzying array of interplanetary sexual diversity. Galen is mortified.

"Step into my fucking office."

Hence the great darkness of philosophers who have looked for a complete building in a ruin.
 
Marty Hart accidentally acquires the valuable philosophical insights of Rust Cohle, boy detective.

"Whatever you want," Nathan finds himself saying when his shirt comes off over his head and his glasses hit the nightstand — like he's talking to himself, which he might as well be. "Don't think about it like should, or shouldn't. Don't think. Don't fucking try and figure it out. Come on. You can keep your shirt on."

Susan's on the loose, and Falco walks right back into an old cage.

The least Nathan can do at this stage in the proceedings is show Caleb a good time.

There in that white-gilt bedroom like a tomb, where I believe none of Gatsby's guests had ever before set foot except by mistake — none until Daisy, and I was only her adjunct and proxy, an accessory to her presence there in the house. He had forgotten about me then. He had forgotten about me now. I was his only witness.

Peter loses, and Ego patches him up afterward. Okay, this is only going to suck a lot.

Morf experiences Dease's work at closer range than intended.