One should read Borges more.
Even on the poorest streets people could be heard laughing. Some of these streets were completely dark, like black holes, and the laughter that came from who knows where was the only sign, the only beacon that kept residents and strangers from getting lost.
I'm an educated man, the prisons I know are subtle ones.
we interpret life at moments of the deepest desperation.
Dreams fade with morning light, Never a morn for thee, Dreamer of dreams, goodnight.
The pain, or the memory of pain, that here was literally sucked away by something nameless until only a void was left. The knowledge that this question was possible: pain that turns finally into emptiness. The knowledge that the same equation applied to everything, more or less.