‘A man must live.’ No, there is no compulsion. A man must die. Yes, there are many circumstances in which a man must die. I wrote another poem: There are a great many things I’d rather not be than dead, And this is the thought that runs forever in my head. When I’m walking alone or lying upon my bed. What’s life, friend, that you so much should prize it, Or death that you’d think on it to disguise it, Remembering, not go forth to surprise it? It is the end of life, the end of strife, A rope, a poisoned cup, a knife.

[Stevie Smith, ‘Novel on Yellow Paper’]