After thirty-six years of holding the signs of age at bay, he was beginning to look the part. He was no more the juvenile lead. There was an undisputable puffiness beneath his eyes, which was nothing to do with sleeplessness and there were lines, too, on his forehead, and round his mouth. He didn't look the wunderkind any longer; the secrets of his debauchery were written all over his face. The excess of sex, booze, and ambition, the frustration of aspiring and just missing the main chance so many times.

—Clive Barker, "Sex, Death, and Starshine"