I guess it goes to show, does it not?
That we've no idea what we've got until we lose it
And no amount of love will keep it around if we don't choose it
...
No amount of self-sought fury will bring back the glory of innocence.

There’s no chance now of a recovery. No matter what sort of thing I do, no matter what I do, it’s sure to be a failure, just a final coating applied to my shame. That dream of going on bicycles to see a waterfall framed in summer leaves—it was not for the likes of me. All that can happen now is that one foul, humiliating sin will be piled on another, and my sufferings will become only the more acute. Living itself is the source of sin.