“Your enemies call it comeuppanceand relish the detailsof a drug too fine, how longyou must have dangled there beside yourself.In the middle distance of yourtwenty-ninth year, night split openlike a fighter's bruised palm,a purple ripeness.Friends shook their heads.With you it was alwaysthe next attractive trouble,as if an arranged marriage had been madein a country of wing walkers, lion tamers,choirboys leaping from bellpullsinto the high numb glitter, and you,born with the breath of wild on your tonguebrash as gin.True, it was charming for a while.Your devil's balance, your debts.Then no one was laughing.Hypodermic needles and cash registersemptied themselves in your presence.Cars went head-on.Sympathy, old motor, ran outor we grew old, our tongueswearing little grooves in our mouthsclucking disappointment.Michael, what pulled you upby upstart rootsand set you packing,left the rest of us here, body-heavyon the edge of our pews.Over the reverend's lamentwe could still hear laughter, your mustachethe angled black wingsof a perfect crow. Laterwe taught ourselves the proper method for mourninghaphazard life: salt, tequila, lemon.Drinking and driftingin your honor we barely felt a thing.”

“But now, for the first time, I see you are a man like me. I thought of your hand-grenades, of your bayonet, of your rifle; now I see your wife and your face and our fellowship. Forgive me, comrade. We always see it too late. Why do they never tell us that you are poor devils like us, that your mothers are just as anxious as ours, and that we have the same fear of death, and the same dying and the same agony--Forgive me, comrade; how could you be my enemy?”

“Beauty is one of the great facts of the world, like sunlight,or springtime, or the reflection in dark waters of that silver shell we call the moon. You have only a few years in which to live really, perfectly, and fully. When your youth goes, your beauty will go with it, and then you will suddenly discover that there are no triumphs left for you...Time is jealous of you, and wars against your lilies and your roses. You will become sallow, and hollow-cheeked, and dull-eyed...Ah! realise your youth while you have it. Don't squander the gold of your days, listening to the tedious, trying to improve the hopeless, or giving away your life to the ignorant, the common, and the vulgar...Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing...The world belongs to you for a season...how tragic it would be if you were wasted. For there is such a little time that your youth will last. The common hillflowers wither, but they blossom again. The laburnum will be as yellow next June as it is now. In a month there will be purple stars on the clematis, and year after year the green night of its leaves will hold its purple stars. But we never get back our youth. The pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty, becomes sluggish. Our limbs fail, our senses rot. We degenerate into hideous puppets, haunted by the memory of the passions of which we were too much afraid, and the exquisite temptations that we had not the courage to yield to...Youth! Youth! There is absolutely nothing in the world but youth.”

“We have followed you," they said, "and we shall follow you wherever you go. If danger threatens you, we shall face it also. If it be death, we shall die with you. You are damned, and we wish to share your damnation."They looked upon us, and their voice was low, but there was bitterness and triumph in their voice: "Your eyes are as a flame, but our brothers have neither hope nor fire. Your mouth is cut of granite, but our brothers are soft and humble. Your head is high, but our brothers cringe. You walk, but our brothers crawl. We wish to be damned with you, rather than blessed with all our brothers. Do as you please with us, but do not send us away from you."Then they knelt, and bowed their golden head before us. We had never thought of that which we did. We bent to raise the Golden One to their feet, but when we touched them, it was as if madness had stricken us. We seized their body and we pressed our lips to theirs. The Golden One breathed once, and their breath was a moan, and then their arms closed around us.We stood together for a long time. And we were frightened that we had lived for twenty-one years and had never known what joy is possible to men.”

“Comrade, I did not want to kill you. . . . But you were only an idea to me before, an abstraction that lived in my mind and called forth its appropriate response. . . . I thought of your hand-grenades, of your bayonet, of your rifle; now I see your wife and your face and our fellowship. Forgive me, comrade. We always see it too late. Why do they never tell us that you are poor devils like us, that your mothers are just as anxious as ours, and that we have the same fear of death, and the same dying and the same agony—Forgive me, comrade; how could you be my enemy?”

“With a rasping cough, the vampire shakes its head. "It was you who called us. All of you, with your war. The roar of your cannons shook us from our quiet graves...”