The day is harsher than the hellish regions.

Outside, a sun strikes you down and a blinding splendor, so steady that it seems solid, devours every shadow. I perceive in what surrounds me less immobility than stupor, the arrest in the blow. For the Earth in her four moons has achieved her generation; it is time for the Bridegroom to kill her, and, uncovering the fires which consume him, to condemn her with a fatal kiss.

What can I say for myself? If these flames are terrifying to my weakness, if my eyes turn away, if my body perspires, if I bend on the triple joints of my legs, I shall be accusing inert matter, but the mind of a man emerges from himself in heroic ecstasy! I feel it! My soul hesitates, but only something supreme can satisfy this enticing and horrible jealousy. Let others flee underground and carefully obstruct the cleft in their dwelling. But a noble heart, caught on the hard point of love, embraces fire and torture. Sun, redouble your flames. Burning is not enough, consume. My grief would be not to suffer enough. Let nothing impure be taken out of the furnace and nothing blind from the agony of light!