There is not much to hold on to in a world where everything crumbles around oneself. Life is far too fragile to preserve, the bonds of love too weak, the humor of tales made to be enjoyed only for so long before it becomes old.
Material things are of no use to me, nor are the foolish emotions that they invoke in the minds of the weakest of mortals. No, I need not for something so trivial.
Still, though, it is a lonely life if one has no means of comfort. And for now, certainly he would do quite nicely.