The logic of despair isn’t for me. You know, cut your throat, right? But there’s something wrong with someone who says he’s in despair who keeps on writing. Because a despairing man doesn’t write. Anyway, it’s too easy, it’s too fashionable. I’m aware that I and the people I love may perish in the morning. I know that. But there’s light on our faces now. If you live under the shadow of death, it gives you a certain freedom. I’m perfectly happy, odd as it sounds, and relatively free.