And then the moon bursts into frenzy, it tumbles streams of light upon Ivan, it splashes light in all directions, a moon-flood fills the room, the light sways, rises, washes over the bed. And it is then that Ivan Nikolayevich sleeps with a blissful face.
In the morning he awakens silent, but entirely calm and well. His lacerated memory subsides, and no one will trouble the professor until the next full moon – neither the noseless killer of Gestas, nor the cruel fifth Procurator of Judea, the rider Pontius Pilate.
– Mikhail Bulgakov
