It’s odd how one’s memories of youth turn out so bleak. Why does the business of growing up – one’s recollections of growth itself – have to be so tragic? I still haven’t found the answer. I doubt if anybody has. When I finally reach that stage at which the placid wisdom of old age... occasionally descends on a person, then I too may suddenly discover that I understand. But I doubt whether, by that time, understanding will have much point.