On this day in 1745, author and satirist Jonathan Swift died in Dublin at age 77. He was reportedly lonely, paralyzed, and had been declared of unsound mind. Sounds like a typical writer to me–well, except he wasn’t impoverished when he died.
Button Sunday
*hugs Jonathan in spirit*
At least people viewed his body and he had a marked grave. If I’m correct, poor Mozart was just dumped into an anonymous pauper’s grave. Becky’s right, though: The number of writers who came to a sad end is rather disconcerting!
Mozart was asking for it with the short skirts.
Didn’t Johnathan Swift travel to exotic lands and eat their children?
Yes. I believe everything I read and have no sense of humor or irony whatsoever.