White nights

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

Would you believe, looking at him, dear Nastenka, that he has never known her whom he loves in his ecstatic dreams?

And one remembers that then one's dreams were sad, and though the past was no better one feels as though it had somehow been better, and that life was more peaceful, that one was free from the black thoughts that haunt one now;

My night ended with the morning.