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Rest In Beauty: an Interview with Swide Magazine
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The Days of the Dead: A Dispatch from Rome
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Our Adored Cadavers
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The Sculptural Skeletons of Rome: As Seen in Slate
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The Neapolitan Cult of the Dead: A Profile for Virginia Commonwealth University
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Crocodile Prayers
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The Mummies of Mexico City
How to Tell if Your Saint is Incorrupt
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Video: How to Tell if Your Saint is Incorrupt
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An Interview with Vice Italia: The Saints of Rome Who Almost Seem Alive
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Corpse Theatre
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Appetite for Destruction
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"Despite His Extraordinary Fatness"
  "There are more tombs than dead in this city. I imagine that the deceased, when they feel too warm in their marble resting places, glide into another than has remained empty, as a sick man is moved from one bed to another. One would believe he hears the skeletons pass, during the night, from coffin to coffin."   — François-René de Chateaubriand  Letter to Madame Récamier from Rome, 1829
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Quote of the Moment
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“Eat Well, Poop a Lot, and Don’t be Afraid of Death” – Traditional Catalan Saying
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Photographing the Real Bodies of Incorrupt Saints: As Seen in Slate
Crypt at Chiesa Madre in Fiumedinisi. From Universitá degli Studi di Pisa
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Consider the Putridarium
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Sinless Sweets: Where and When to Eat the Ten Best Saintly Desserts
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The Catacomb Saint of Manhattan: As Seen in Hyperallergic
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The Mesmerizing Skeletons of Rome: As Seen in Swide Magazine
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All Saints' Way
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The Rapist of Santa Maria in Trastevere
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The Oracles of Rome: Two Architectural Oddities Predict the Apocalypse
  "When we have once known Rome, and left her where she lies, like a long-decaying corpse, retaining a trace of the noble shape it was, but with accumulated dust and a fungous growth overspreading all its more admirable features, left her in utter weariness, no doubt, of her narrow, crooked, intricate streets, so uncomfortably paved with little squares of lava that to tread over them is a penitential pilgrimage, so indescribably ugly, moreover, so cold, so alley-like, into which the sun never falls, and where a chill wind forces its deadly breath into our lungs,—left her, tired of the sight of those immense seven-storied, yellow-washed hovels, or call them palaces, where all that is dreary in domestic life seems magnified and multiplied, and weary of climbing those staircases, which ascend from a ground-floor of cook shops, cobblers’ stalls, stables, and regiments of cavalry, to a middle region of princes, cardinals, and ambassadors, and an upper tier of artists, just beneath the unattainable sky,—left her, worn out with shivering at the cheerless and smoky fireside by day, and feasting with our own substance the ravenous little populace of a Roman bed at night,—left her, sick at heart of Italian trickery, which has uprooted whatever faith in man’s integrity had endured till now, and sick at stomach of sour bread, sour wine, rancid butter, and bad cookery, needlessly bestowed on evil meats,—left her, disgusted with the pretense of holiness and the reality of nastiness, each equally omnipresent,—left her, half lifeless from the languid atmosphere, the vital principle of which has been used up long ago, or corrupted by myriads of slaughters,—left her, crushed down in spirit with the desolation of her ruin, and the hopelessness of her future,—left her, in short, hating her with all our might, and adding our individual curse to the infinite anathema which her old crimes have unmistakably brought down,—when we have left Rome in such mood as this, we are astonished by the discovery, by and by, that our heart-strings have mysteriously attached themselves to the Eternal City, and are drawing us thitherward again, as if it were more familiar, more intimately our home, than even the spot where we were born."   — From The Marble Faun by Nathaniel Hawthorne, Chapter XXXVI: Hilda’s Tower  The photo on the right is the actual tower that Hawthorne saw in Rome. It's where he imagined Hilda "trimmed the lamp before the Virgin's shrine". It's also home to  a very strange legend about monkey.
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Hilda's Tower
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The Mysteries of Saint Cristina
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Voodoo Lady: A Culture Clash in New York
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50 Ways to Make Your Martyr
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Hang on St. Christopher
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Beatrice Cenci: Martyr, Muse, Murderer
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A Palm Sunday Legend
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The Cadaver Synod or That Time We Put a Corpse on Trial
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A Makeover for LA's Patron Saint
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Transi Tombs: Living Up Front, Dead Man's Party Out Back
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Miss World
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Terror-Stricken in Paris: A Crypt for Bloodstains and Bones
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The (Really) Great Gig in the Sky
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Buried Alive
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The Thief's Severed Arm
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Bless Thou! Thou Art Translated!
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They Don't Make 'Em Like They Used To: The Flying, Stigmatic Saint from the 1960s
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The Other Kind of Mortification
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St. Ursula and Her 11,000 BFFs
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Decoding Our Lady of Sorrows in Mexico City
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The (Not Really So Very) Incorrupt Corpses
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The Measure of Things
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The Saint and The Satanist
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Hurricane Sandy Edition: A Look at Some Saints on Candles Bought at a Bed-Stuy Bodega
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Let's Go to Brno!
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The Saint at Death's Door
We're Here to Ruin SANTA.
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Ruining Christmas