For I was thirty, and I was weary of all these things--weary and in doubt.

It was because of this state that I was undertaking the voyage.

I wanted to get away by myself, to get away from all these things, and, with proper perspective, mull the matter over.
It sometimes seemed to me that the culmination of this world-sickness had been brought about by the success of my play--my first play, as every one knows.

But it had been such a success that it raised the doubt in my own mind, just as the success of my several volumes of verse had raised doubts.

Was the public right?
Were the critics right?
Surely the function of the artist was to voice life, yet what did I know of life?
So you begin to glimpse what I mean by the world-sickness that afflicted me.