I wrote silences; nights; I recorded the unnameable.

I dreamed of Crusades, voyages of discovery that nobody had heard of, republics without histories, religious wars stamped out, revolutions in morals, movements of races and continents; I used to believe in every kind of magic. I began it as an investigation. I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.

I may die of earthly love, or of devotion.

What is my nothingness to the stupor that awaits you?

Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.

I am alone in possessing a key to this barbarous sideshow.

Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.