I love the silent hour of night,
For blissful dreams may then arise,
Revealing to my charmed sight
What may not bless my waking eyes.
It was a marvelous night, the sort of night one only experiences
when one is young. The sky was so bright and there were so many
stars that, gazing upward, one couldn’t help but wondering how so many
whimsical, wicked people could live under such a sky. This too is a
question that would only occur to the young, to the very young; but
may God make you wonder like that as often as possible!
~ Dostoevsky, White Nights