A woman materialises behind Prospero -- leaning lightly on the back of his chair -- she is alternately a Titianesque nude and then the Vesalius figur… - Peter Greenaway

Death is not necessarily an old and withered book with dry pages. It can be a thousand leaves of strong and shining text on a powerful body, held erect on the vertebrae of a strong spine. The heart hardly breathes because quietus has been reached, the torso is like a rock, the legs are rooted, the ink is dependable. If the words of death should be considered faded and sere -- where could be the dignity in dying?

It's strange. In the last five minutes you have used my Christian name over and over again and never before. People I like learn my name too late.

A final splash plops … all water-movement ceases and the screen is a black velvet void.