Unless I set my will, unless I absolve myself from the rhythm of life, fix myself and remain static, cut off from living, absolved within my own will.

But better die than live mechanically a life that is a repetition of repetitions.

To die is to move on with the invisible.

To die is also a joy, a joy of submitting to that which is greater than the known, namely, the pure unknown.

That is a joy.