He's got the rhetoric, no question about it; none of his incarnations has ever been short of a quick word or a facile explanation.
There's the love. He must have had that. Must have it. It wouldn't hurt so much otherwise. Day by day through the universe, with different friends at his side, changing as quickly as the leaves, fresh, experienced, fallen, gone.
But, looking at his hands, seeing the flicker of chaotic light that marks his veins and foreshadows the body's imminent ruin, hearing his heart hammer faster and faster towards an ending, he is reminded; the blood's compulsory.