"For All the Freedom I savored in New York

a letter I wrote home that fall suggests that I was a confused young man:

Oh God! Round and round I go looking for an answer of some kind. No answer. No nothing. I've tried relaxing, but it's still the same. I've gone nuts thinking about truth and it's aspects. I don't get anything. Nothing adds up. There is so much damn bitterness and fear and hate and untruths all around me. I want to do something about it. It makes me mad when I get scared of sticking my neck out. If you try to be good and thoughtful and kind and truthful, people call you a liar and suspect you and resent you and hate you. I try my damnedest to understand and forgive, but if I were to put into words and actions what I sometimes feel, it would cost me my life almost. Society won't let you be decent because they're so God-damned afraid all the time. I've tried to be smart and stay on the line but it makes me feel as though I weren't living up to my own ideas and principles..."

Marlon "Bud" Brando, letter to his parents