Astrid Kirchherr on the Death of Stuart Sutcliffe

"I can't explain it. It's so hard. When you're so young, like we all were then, death is so far away that you never think about it. And when someone gets ill, you never, ever think of death. That is why it was like a dream for all of us. It was so unreal or unrealistic. Stuart was so sensitive. He liked beautiful things. We used to go out, which wasn't very often because I wasn't making much money and he only had his grant from college, and see ballet or classical concerts. He wrote stories and poems. He was very intelligent, very sensitive, with a wonderful sense of humor. He used to spend hours writing letters to John in Liverpool. He'd put down all his feelings, all his experiences, even put in illustrations, drawings, and pages of poetry. These letters ran to 20 pages or so. John's letters were just as long and deep. They were very close because they had exactly the same kind of humor, wit, and intelligence. They were so quick, and it was great listening to them. They were hilariously funny, both of them. To John, Stuart counted more than anything, and he felt he had to look after Stuart because he was so small and delicate. He really loved him as he would have loved a brother, if he'd had one."