Still with Diceria dell'untore by Gesualdo Bufalino.
"I recalled the tax collectors and leaders marching with their bay-colored mules and horses; the fierce fabric shoes with which they struck the ground; their abrupt whips, the coils of rope and the stakes they carried on their shoulders. To enclose which portions of brush and crust? To build upon it what dwelling, what simulacrum of life? Are their steps hence useless like ours? Like the smoke of our wasted years? And that sun, the galleon of the king of Spain, sinking in flames on the sea; those parapets and obelisks and collapsing arches of clouds, from which seemed to hang and rot a trophy of ermine and roses... Imaginary everything, except for our death, as Marta said? “Trust only in your eyes,” I replied to myself in silence."