“It was then I began to on my bed and stare out at the nibbling squirrels, and to make up poems from intense abstraction, hour after unmarked hour, imagination scarcely faltering once, rhythm hardly skipping a beat, while my sisters called me, suns rose and fell, and the poems I made, which I never remembered, were the first and last of that time….”

— Laurie Lee, book Cider with Rosie

Source: Cider with Rosie (1959), p. 280. (The last sentence of the book)

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Laurie Lee22

British writer 1914–1997

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