Friday, November 22, 2024 Text is available under the CC BY-SA 3.0 licence.

Peter Greenaway

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Hadrian... as you know an architect of note... put a lot of faith in stones... died peacefully... planning a Temple to Wisdom... still, he's dead. Nero -- best not to talk about him -- burnt Rome, caused untold misery, deserved to die; died screaming in a summerhouse.

 
Peter Greenaway

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Titus... he started well... soon became greedy... disembowelled on the Tiber steps... he's dead, died screaming...

 
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Come! let the burial rite be read — the funeral song be sung! —
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young —
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.

 
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But I set fire to the rain,
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Galba... a miserable sort of man... bisexual... fancied mature slaves, especially if they had been a little mutilated... all his freed men had no fingers on the left hands... he's dead -- died screaming... in a cellar.

 
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"You tell me the truth. You tell me that my son died for oil. You tell me that my son died to make your friends rich. You tell me my son died to spread the cancer of Pax Americana, imperialism in the Middle East. You tell me that, you don't tell me my son died for freedom and democracy...You get America out of Iraq, you get Israel out of Palestine"

 
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