Here his eyes opened wide, and as he whispered he gazed at the moon. "She was carrying some of those repulsive yellow flowers. God knows what they're called, but they are somehow always the first to appear in spring. They stood out very sharply against her black coat. She was carrying yellow flowers! What an ugly color. She turned off Tverskaya into a side street and looked back. You know Tverskaya, there must have been a thousand people around, but I knew that she saw no one but me. And I was struck less by her beauty than by the extraordinary loneliness in her eyes."
Born in Kiev, Ukraine
"The worth of a book is to be measured by what you can carry away from it."
JAMES BRYCE
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