Russian Books

From Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, to Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, not to mention Nabokov, Chechov and of course Zhivago, your books have lined my shelves. As a boy, I lived inside and tried to find myself. As a man I learned to see, to speak and even break free, in moments that came randomly. I yearned to feel, to touch and even bleed as I wandered through this world aimlessly. I regained my trust but gained not much. And now, your eastern wind has begun to blow that old dust off my restless and unsettled soul. It gets me thinking, reminiscing, remembering It fills my screen with curiosities. Another great Russian book to read, nothing less, nothing more.