In the atmospheric electrical discharge, a leader of a bolt of lightning can travel at speeds of 60,000 m/s (220,000 km/h), and can reach temperatures approaching 30,000 °C (54,000 °F), hot enough to fuse silica sand into glass
The average peak power output of a single lightning stroke is about a terawatt (1012 W) and the stroke lasts for around 30 microseconds.
Lightning rapidly heats the air in its immediate vicinity to around 20,000 °C (36,000 °F) -- about three times the temperature of the surface of the Sun. This compresses the surrounding clear air and creates a supersonic shock wave which decays to an acoustic wave that is heard as thunder.
Lightning Hits the Power Station (hypothetically)
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After the assassination of Caesar in the Senate, Anthony enters and confronts the conspirators. He pretends to understand and forgive them (to save his own life and allow him to avenge his friend and mentor in the future). When Anthony is left alone in the Senate with the murdered body of Caesar he breaks down with grief and rage and asks forgiveness from the bleeding body, vowing vengeance against the conspirators:
Anthony:
“O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man
That ever lived in the tide of times.
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,--
Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips,
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue--
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men;
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy;
Blood and destruction shall be so in use
And dreadful objects so familiar
That mothers shall but smile when they behold
Their infants quarter’d with the hands of war;
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds:
And Caesar’s spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Ate by his side come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines with a monarch’s voice
Cry ’Havoc,’ and let slip the dogs of war;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.”
“These days I mainly just talk to plants and dogs -
all human contact seems painful, risky, odd;
so I stay acting god in my own universe
where I trade cigarettes in return for songs.
The deal’s made harder the longer I go on:
I find me gone from all but secret languages.”
