" I remember what I would remind the reader. I would remind the reader that I went to Spain in 1936, where I drove an ambulance during the siege of Madrid and elsewhere. I have married a number of women (two), loved a number of – other people – (twenty-two), written a number of slim volumes of modern Romantic poetry published by reputable small presses like Hyperbole, and sustained this old house in Cleaver Square where I have raised a fine garden (now dying), and also a daughter. And when I wish to go to the West End alone at night, to attend, let us say, a concert of classical music, Schubert perhaps, Death and the Maiden – I go. So let there be no more of this clucking and wheedling. Oh, Pa, are you sure? Or: Oh, Francis, is this really a good idea? Let me be clear. I am always sure, and it is always a good idea. "

― Patrick McGrath , Last Days in Cleaver Square