“This sounds silly,” he said later, “but the first thing that I can remember I was on my back, on that kitchen table, and the window facing the street was open. I remember this marvellous warm breeze coming in, so it was around June, and I was a couple of months old. And I turned my head and right next to me was a white plate with scrambled eggs on it. I can still see it.”
http://www.newyorker.com/talk/2010/04/19/100419ta_talk_stevenson?printable=true#ixzz0kz8svPjz
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