The clouds thicken over the cloister and night gradually darkens the ledger stones bearing the moral virtues attributed to the dead. If someone here told me to write a book on morality, it would have a hundred pages and ninety-nine would be blank. On the last page, I should write: ‘I recognize one duty, and that is to love.’ And, as far as everything else is concerned, I say no. I say no with all my strength. The ledger stones tell me that this is useless, that life is ‘col sol levante, col sol cadente.’ But, I cannot see that my revolt loses by being useless, and I can feel what it gains.