In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

24 The evening is greyish and gloomy, shabby, and my spirit is the same. The anxiety I have is the one I know, neighbor to my old hypochondria. I don't know what causes this anxiety; I don't even have a general understanding; but I think back, and, remembering, I say: "Yes I was a boy, and you were my only friend." Sorrow, it is not true that I know you; you are the nostalgia for a good life, and the aloneness of the soul in shadow, the sailing ship without wreck and without guide. Like an abandoned dog who cannot find a smell or a track and roams along the roads, with no road, like the child who in a night of the fair gets lost among the crowd, and the air is dusty, and the candles fluttering,—astounded, his heart weighed down by music and by pain; that's how I am, drunk, sad by nature, a mad and lunar guitarist, a poet, and an ordinary man lost in dreams, searching constantly for God among the mists. [65] ...

Share