Nothing to be done.. - Samuel Beckett

My dear Tom,
Delighted to get your letter. Do write again. This life is terrible and I don't understand how it can be endured.

The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh. Let us not then speak ill of our generation, it is not any unhappier than its predecessors.

It is suicide to be abroad. But what it is to be at home, ... what it is to be at home? A lingering dissolution.