The ghost island of Venice

I am skirting one of the buildings when I read on the wall the words “Psychiatric Ward.” I hear whispering, maybe it’s the wind passing through the window boards. A door slams. My legs are shaking but I keep going. The old man is strangely calm and stays close to me. He scans the interior of the rooms. They are attached to each other, looking almost like prison cells. I wonder what are the stories of the people who lived here, what violence they suffered. With the flashlight I illuminate an old wooden bedside table. On it, next to a Russian book, I find a note with this inscription. What does it mean?