They loved each other greatly. Most people experience love, without noticing that there is anything remarkable about it. To them - and this made them… - Boris Pasternak

February. Get ink, shed tears.
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing,
While torrential slush that roars
Burns in the blackness of the spring.

Go hire a buggy. For six grivnas,
Race through the noice of bells and wheels
To where the ink and all you grieving
Are muffled when the rainshower falls.

To where, like pears burnt black as charcoal,
A myriad rooks, plucked from the trees,
Fall down into the puddles, hurl
Dry sadness deep into the eyes.

Below, the wet black earth shows through,
With sudden cries the wind is pitted,
The more haphazard, the more true
The poetry that sobs its heart out.

"Dela govore mnogim svojim elementima: temama, situacijama, sižeima, junacima. Ali, više od svega, ona govore umetnošću koja je u njima prisutna. Prisustvo umetnosti na stranicama "Zločina i kazne" mnogo je potresnije od samog Raskoljnikovljevog zločina."

You and I, it's as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent down to earth together, to see if we know what we were taught.