I Know All About Endings. It Is

I Wasn't A Child At 13, Were You?

Speak Not Against Anyone Whose Burden You Have Not Weighed Yourself.

Rome Was Mud And Smoky Skies; The Rank Smell Of The Tiber And The Exotically Spiced Cooking Fires Of A Hundred Different Nationalities. Rome Was White Marble And Gilding And Heady Perfumes; The Blare Of Trumpets And The Shrieking Of Market-women And The Eternal, Sub-aural Hum Of More People, Speaking More Languages Than Gaius Had Ever Imagined Existed, Crammed Together On Seven Hills Whose Contours Had Long Ago Disappeared Beneath This Encrustation If Humanity. Rome Was The Pulsing Heart Of The World.

On One Occasion I Shared A Bed With About Seven Other People, But We Were All Having A Party Overnight

Knowledge Was Like A Mouthful Of Dust.