I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble; It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream. - Dylan Thomas

I've had eighteen straight whiskies, I think that's the record . . .

Rhianon, he said, hold my hand, Rhianon.

She did not hear him, but stood over his bed and fixed him with an unbroken sorrow.

Hold my hand, he said, and then: why are your putting the sheet over my face?

One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.