A few days later, despite a tumultuous demonstration, tens of thousands of people accompanied the funeral procession to a cemetery in the capital city. So did Vespasian Spleen resurgence of the shadow of his own doubt, the name heard in the dream of the day before the death of the ruler. He reminded Zeno of Elea, was juggling to clarify the nuances, shades and scales of dreams, to define with certainty the details. He thought of the impossibility of motion and eternal dream fall. He applied this argument to the accident where the ruler had died. She removed that hypothesis denying this possibility to be somewhere if it were moving.
It likewise said repeating old lessons: If the arrow moving in the air, occupies a space equal to itself, can not therefore be moving, so it is at rest and movement is an illusion. Like me in my dream, it has not dropped the plane. He has not even moved. Consequently, it remains entangled in the fabric of eternity, sustained by bonds of wind, billowing strings. Should be suspended forever, bouncing in the clouds, lightning and endless night. There can be killed, because he has never suffered any accident. Amid such considerations, Vespasian felt the need to succumb to a glimpse of authentic material. But finally been dropped, and that hill has been the place where he has reaped the fruits of death, then it should be inside the coffin, in the wet marble crypt of rotting and feeding worms.