I have long enjoyed Stephen Fry's acting, and he has impressed me with his knowledge of and appreciation for literature (for example, see his surprisingly astute commentary on Lawrence Stern's Tristram Shandy, in one of the special features on the "Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story" DVD). In a recent blog post, he writes poignantly of loneliness and of a recent brush with self-slaughter:
"In the end loneliness is the most terrible and contradictory of my problems. I hate having only myself to come home to. If I have a book to write, it’s fine. I’m up so early in the morning that even I pop out for an early supper I am happy to go straight to bed, eager to be up and writing at dawn the next day. But otherwise…
"It’s not that I want a sexual partner, a long-term partner, someone to share a bed and a snuggle on the sofa with – although perhaps I do and in the past I have had and it has been joyful. But the fact is I value my privacy too. It’s a lose-lose matter. I don’t want to be alone, but I want to be left alone."
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