A long time ago. Was I very different then? You laughed more. I have felt alone all my life... except with you. I must go. Yes. There.
Gladiator
9.1s
Pink stones that warm in the sun. A kitchen garden that smells of herbs in the day... jasmine in the evening.
Gladiator
3.2s
Maximus, the Emperor needs you. It's urgent.
Gladiator
5.5s
Sire. Where's the Emperor? He's at the front, sire. They've been gone for 19 days.
Gladiator
1.6s
Don't die.
Gladiator
11.3s
Grapes on the south slopes, olives on the north. Wild ponies play near my house. They tease my son. He wants to be one of them. When was the last time you were home? Two years, 264 days and this morning.
Gladiator
2.7s
Through the gate is a giant poplar.
Gladiator
2s
Tell me about your home.
Gladiator
1.7s
A very simple place.
Gladiator
6.9s
I may die in this cell tonight, or in the arena tomorrow. I am a slave! What possible difference can I make?
Gladiator
1m19s
5,000 of my men are out there in the freezing mud. 3,000 of them are bloodied and cleaved. 2,000 will never leave this place. I will not believe that they fought and died for nothing. And what would you believe? They fought for you and for Rome. And what is Rome, Maximus? I've seen much of the rest of the world. It is brutal and cruel and dark. Rome is the light. Yet you have never been there. You have not seen what it has become. I am dying, Maximus. When a man sees his end... he wants to know there was some purpose to his life. How will the world speak my name in years to come? Will I be known as the philosopher? The warrior? The tyrant? Or will I be the Emperor who gave Rome back her true self? There was once a dream that was Rome. You could only whisper it. Anything more than a whisper and it would vanish... it was so fragile. And I fear that it will not survive the winter. Maximus... let us whisper now... together, you and I.
Gladiator
5.7s
Let us talk together now... very simply, as men.
Gladiator
5.9s
But with every day that passes, he makes enemies. One day, he'll have more enemies than friends.
Gladiator
6.7s
Figs, apples, pears. The soil, Marcus, black. Black like my wife's hair.
