Ja volim samoubilacki-krvnicki nemilosrdno i brutalno. Necu drugacije. Ko to moze da izdrzi, a upoznah samo jednog. 'Moja je krv moj put do tebe. - Alexander Pushkin

The illness with which he'd been smitten
should have been analysed when caught,
something like spleen, that scourge of Britain,
or Russia's chondria, for short.

"Perhaps you'd like, you gentle fellow,
To hear what I'm prepared to say
On "kinfolk" and their implications?
Well, here's my view of close relations:
They're people whom we're bound to prize,
To honor, love, and idolize,
And following the old tradition,
To visit come the Christmas feast,
Or send a wish by mail at least;
All other days they've our permission,
To quite forget us if they please-
So grant them, God, long life and ease!"

Thus heaven's gift to us is this:
That habit takes the place of bliss.