The night knows what is to be written long before I do – it owns a complete record of my possible writings, thoughts, paintings, the night waits for me to fulfill these. The night is a great room of waiting, an ocean of patience – an inexhaustible sea of light, by virtue of its darkness. The night hides and is everywhere apparent – retreats, while it envelops. The night knows us all, and recognizes no one. In the night I am truly myself, while I am one and indistinguishable with everyone else. In the night I cannot see, surrounded by vision.