"The past few days I've been reading part of a rather melancholy book, 'Brieven en dagboek' ('Letters and Diary') of Gerard Bilders. He died at the age [27] when I was more or less beginning. When I read it, I don't regret making a late start. He was certainly unhappy and was often misunderstood, but at the same time I find a great weakness in him, something unhealthy in his character. It's like the story of a plant that shoots up too early and can't withstand the frost, and as a result one fine night it's struck to the root and withers away. At first he does well — he's a master as in the hothouse — making rapid growth there — but in Amsterdam he stands almost alone, and despite his brilliance he can't cope there, and in the end he comes back to his father's house, completely discouraged, dissatisfied, apathetic — and there he does some more painting and finally dies of consumption or another disease in his 28th year."