The same Macbeth, seeing the confusion that is taking to its wife to madness, increpa to the doctor: ” Crala! It is that you cannot alleviate to an ill spirit, take the ingrained grief in the memory, erase the restlessness recorded in the brain and, with sweet antidote of forgetfulness, to drain the chest of dangerous matter that weighs on the heart? ” Jorge Luis Borges on the matter bequeaths his poem to us: THE REMORSE I have committed the worse one of the sins that a man can commit. I have not been happy. That the glaciers of the forgetfulness they drag to me and they lose to me, ruthless. To my they generated me parents for the game dangerous and beautiful of the life, for the Earth, the water, the air, the fire. I defrauded them. I was not happy.
Fulfilled it was not its young will. My mind it was applied symmetrical porfas of the art, that entreteje naderas. They bequeathed value to me. I was not brave. It does not leave to me. The shade is always side of to have been an unfortunate one..