#patrick mcgrath

I remember everything narrow: rooms, houses, yards, alleys, streets - narrow and dark and constricted, all pushed together beneath an oppressive sky in which the smoke from the chimneypots trailed off in vague, stringy wisps and strands, a sky filled with rainclouds - it always seemed to be raining, and if it wasn't raining it was always about to rain. There was blackened brickwork, and grimy walls, and against them gray figures in raincoats scurried home like phantoms through the late winter afternoons before the lamps were lit.

To want to die in the forest and be eaten by wolves: another marker of incipient madness.

“Non sono più disposta a tollerare che tu prenda quello che ti viene da me come qualcosa di dovuto”.