I have committed the worst of sins. I have not been happy. Let the icy pangs of remorse carry me away, mercilessly. My mother bore me for the daring and beautiful game of life, for the earth, the water, the air, and the fire. I have let her down. I have not been happy. I have left unfulfilled the most tender desire of her youth. My mind became entangled in the vain spiderwebs of art, spun around solitude and vanity. She bestowed me courage. I have not been brave. It does not leave my side. It is always with me. The sombre presence of my unhappiness.