I Love You Wildly, Insanely, Infinitely.

A Literary Creation Can Appeal To Us In All Sorts Of Ways-by Its Theme, Subject, Situations, Characters. But Above All It Appeals To Us By The Presence In It Of Art. It Is The Presence Of Art In Crime And Punishment That Moves Us Deeply Rather Than The Story Of Raskolnikov's Crime.

Oh, How One Wishes Sometimes To Escape From The Meaningless Dullness Of Human Eloquence, From All Those Sublime Phrases, To Take Refuge In Nature, Apparently So Inarticulate, Or In The Wordlessness Of Long, Grinding Labor, Of Sound Sleep, Of True Music, Or Of A Human Understanding Rendered Speechless By Emotion!

He Was A Natural, And In The Russian Way, Tragically Above These Banalities.

And Now Listen Carefully. You In Others-this Is Your Soul. This Is What You Are. This Is What Your Consciousness Has Breathed And Lived On And Enjoyed Throughout Your Life-your Soul, Your Immortality, Your Life In Others. And What Now? You Have Always Been In Others And You Will Remain In Others. And What Does It Matter To You If Later On That Is Called Your Memory? This Will Be You-the You That Enters The Future And Becomes A Part Of It.

Mother Russia Is On The Move, She Can't Stand Still, She's Restless And Can't Find Rest, She's Talking And She Can't Stop.