Our lord, the lord of the near, of the nigh, is made to laugh. He is arbitrary, he is capricious, he mocketh. ... He is placing us in the palm of his hand; he is making us round. We roll; we become as pellets. He is casting us from side to side. We make him laugh; he is making a mockery of us.

O my son, O my grandson. See to it that thou lookest not longingly to thy home, to something within thy home. Do not say: "My mother is there, my father is there. My neighbors, my protectors, exist, flourish. ... I have drink, I have food. I came to life, I was born, at the place of abundance, a place of riches." It is ended; thou goest knowing it.

They were tall; they were larger than the people today.

Is this not a fatal time for us poor women? This is our kind of war There our Mother Cihuacoatl Quilaztli Takes her tribute of death.