Two remorses . Remorse for any Death by Jorge Luis Borges - 1923(posted 8990 days ago)Free of memory and hope, unlimited, abstract, almost future, the dead person in not a dead person: it is death. Like the god of the mystics, whom they insist has no attributes, the dead person, everywhere no one, in nothing but the loss and absence of the world. We rob it of everything, we do not leave it one color, one syllable: here is the yard which its eyes no longer take up, there is the sidewalk where it waylaid its hope. Even what we are thinking it might be thinking too; we have shared out like thieves the amazing treasure of nights and days .........................
REMORSE JORGE LUIS BORGES I have committed the worst sin of all That a man can commit. I have not been Happy. Let the glaciers of oblivion Drag me and mercilessly let me fall. My parents bred and bore me for a higher Faith in the human game of nights and days; For earth, for air, for water, and for fire. I let them down. I wasn't happy. My ways Have not fulfilled their youthful hope. I gave My mind to the symmetric stubbornness Of art, and all its webs of pettiness. They willed me bravery. I wasn't brave. It never leaves my side, since I began: This shadow of having been a brooding man.