“But do not mourn the dead: they know what they are doing. I was in the land of the dead and after such black terror I resurged in pardon. I’m innocent! Don’t consume me! I am not saleable! Woe to me, all is lost and it’s as if the great guilt was mine. May they wash my hands and feet and then — then may they daub them with oils sacred from so much perfume. Ah such will for happiness. I’m now forcing myself to laugh in a great burst. But I don’t know why I’m not laughing. Death is an encounter with oneself. Lying there, she was a big as a dead horse. The best thing is still this: not to die, because dying is insufficient, it doesn’t complete me, I who need so much.”
Note used in the 484th paragraph of The Hour of the Star. The handwriting is by Olga Borelli.