I never meant to kill my brother. I never set out to hate my father. I never dreamed I would bury my own son. Nor could I
have imagined that I would betray the childhood friend who saved my life, or win a Pulitzer Prize for telling a lie.
All these things I have done, yet most people I know would call me an honorable man. I wouldn’t go that far. But I try to
be a good man, and most of the time, I believe I succeed. How is this possible? These are complicated times.
