'The only thing that gives life any meaning is the hope that when you die you'll go to a better place, and when they close that door to you and the only one that's left open is the door to Hell, then it's better not to have been born. For me, Juan Preciado, Heaven is right here where I am.'
'And your soul? Where do you think it's gone?'
'It must be wandering around up there on earth, like all those others, looking for people to pray for it. I think it hates me for the bad things I did, but that doesn't worry me any more. I'm rid of all the pain it used to give me. It made me feel bitter about everything, even about not getting enough to eat, and it made the nights unbearable, full of terrifying thoughts. Visions of the damned and things like that. When I sat down to die, it told me to get up again and keep on living, as if it still hoped for some miracle that would clean away my sins. But I wouldn't. "This is the end," I told it. "I can't go any farther.' I opened my mouth so it could leave, and it left. I felt something fall into my hands. It was the little thread of blood that tied to my heart.'
Page 64 of Pedro Paramo written by Juan Rulfo and translated by Lysander Kemp