I have lived almost 50 years, and I've seen life as it is. Pain, misery, hunger, cruelty beyond belief. I've heard the singing in the taverns, and the moans from bundles of filth in the street. I've been a soldier, and watched my comrades fall in battle, or die more slowly under the lash in Africa. I've held them in my arms at the final moment. These were men who saw life as it is, yet they died despairing. No glory, no gallant last words, only their eyes filled with confusion, whimpering the question... "Why?" I do not think they asked why they were dying, but why they had ever lived.