Joseph Brodsky wrote about Venice: Fondamenta degli Incurabili, Shores of the Incurable – I would translate it. It was translated as „The shore of the lost“; yet as a reader you don’t feel lost at all in his words:

„The ship sailed slowly through the night, like a coherent thought through the unconscious“.

There are more and more, my incurable lost friends, spread out in the peaceful courtyards. They only die the second death when they are forgotten. Eternal life? It is to be found in memory, according to Father Keuser from my parish, which is called „Holy Family“.