حالم خوب نمي‌شود. نمي‌دانم چرا اينطوري پيش مي‌رود؟ خوابهاي وحشتناكي دارم، قبل از بيدار شدن مرتب خواب مي‌بينم كه مي‌خواهم بيدار بشوم ولي نمي‌توانم. چشمهايم باز نمي‌شود، صدايم در نمي‌آيد، و نمي‌توانم از جا بلند بشوم. وقتي كه بيدار مي‌شوم خيلي خسته‌ام. و فكر مي‌كنم ديگر هرگز نمي‌خوابم، اما خوب اين بي‌انرژي‌بودن دارد از پا مي‌اندازد...
درد احمقانه هم كه هي مي‌رود و مي‌آيد. شايد تئاتر حالم را خوب مي‌كرد...
دلم خيلي تنگ شده است. خيلي...
از استاد هيچ وقت امضا نگرفتم، شايد به خاطر نوع رابطه‌مان. عوضش يك كتاب برايش گرفتم، مجموعه 7-8 داستان معروف ويرجييانا وولف به زبان اصلي.
اين متن آخرين نوشته‌اش به همسرش است:
I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier 'til this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that — everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer. I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been.
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