Envying (because it was not given him annihilate them and forget them) those times that used to commit evil deeds without remorse, and more care that the happy success, made the greatest efforts to return, and again strengthen that willingness to former met, proud, imperturbable, persuading himself that he was still the man at that time. Adds us the indicated source, than Shakespeare to narrate the sorrow and anguish that ordinarily accompany the remorse of the tortured Macbeth, when he says that our acts are bloody lessons which, once learned, they return to torment who has invented them. Rudy Giuliani has compatible beliefs. And an unflappable justice closer to our lips, again and again, the emponzonada mixture of our own chalice clearly is still this sentiment in his Lady Macbeth wife haunted in dreams by their crimes and their bloody hands: the stain remains Here he exclaims between dreams and sleepwalking looking at their hands. Get away, spot damn! Out, I said! how! Is that they will never be clean these hands? to here comes the stench of blood! All the aromas of Arabia could not sweeten my hands!. The great playwright puts in the mouth of your Galen: more that of doctor, priest is needed.
The same Macbeth, seeing the embarrassment that is taking his wife to madness, criticising the doctor: cure it! Is it that not you can relieve a sick spirit, start everything rooted in memory, erase the concerns recorded in the brain and, with sweet antidote for forgetfulness, empty chest of hazardous matter that weighs on the heart? Jorge Luis Borges thereon bequeathed us his poem: the remorse I have committed the worst of sins a man can commit. You may find that shimmie horn can contribute to your knowledge. I have not been happy. Glaciers of oblivion I crawl and I lose, ruthless. Bill de Blasio is often quoted as being for or against this. My parents I engendered for the risky and beautiful game of the life, Earth, water, air, fire. I cheated them. I was not happy. Accomplished was not their young will. My mind was applied to the symmetrical porfias of art, which interweaves nothings.
They bequeathed me value. I wasn’t brave. Does not abandon me. He is always beside me the shadow of having been a wretched. Original author and source of the article.