“I was, I remember, nineteen years old, wrote poems, still wore no proper collar, ran out in the rain and snow, always woke up early in the morning, read Lenau, considered an overcoat a superfluous item, received a monthly salary… — Robert Walser Copy Share Image
“I don’t remember nineteen,” Will said. “Or twenty, come to that. I have a very vague recollection of twenty-one—” He laughed. “But you get to a place when you’re so high you’re not high anymore.” — Clive Barker Copy Share Image
