Fear, laughter, tears, suspense, knots in the throat, existential doubts, reflections born from the deepest thoughts and ideals that fight with themselves in search of the freedom of their spirit with an imperious desire to finally obtain the means required for the expression of its essence that in a perfect concatenation of its own secondary internal aspects, gives birth to its unequivocal and incomparable content, that with great fervor those ideas will not rest until they can be expressed in those phenomena that transit in the swing of the life of Anyone…
Ideas come and go, in their wake leaving such a unique and special air that envelopes all the dialectical processes in search of the formation and unfolding of the ideas that are born with each word written by the greatest Russian novelists, such as Leo Tolstoy, in the search for understanding of the events that took place between Russia and France more than 200 years ago, or in the same search for what it is to love, and of the same need for chaos for the very existence of peace, and that if only one of these pieces were missing, the other could not even be sketched in the most recondite depths of the human intellect.
Not to mention the immense reflections induced by works such as "Notes from the Underground", "The Brothers Karamazov", yes, those reflections that make one to question what it really means to love, and thus by inevitable consequence, these reflections have to take us by the hand with the eagerness and powerful desire to find the reason why we love who we say we love. At the same time, finding ourselves with different walls that our own reflections will seek to overcome in order to define both its essence and its content so that in perfect intrarelationship and interrelationship these can be expressed in the form of thoughts or ideas that give life to their bearer.
But for God's sake, let's not get lost in the immensities of the cosmos, it would be a sin to overlook each one of the most delicate and sublime details that characterize Russian literature, especially if we have to talk about classical literature, likewise, it would be It is painful to read some work by Anton Chekhov, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Leo Tolstoy, Ivan Turgenev, Nikolai Gogol, and Alexander Pushkin, and that your spirit does not feel a tingling that incites it to continue meeting itself and as a consequence of such an act, continue defining itself if someday when reading one of these writers you don't feel anything, dear reader, a couple of things have happened here, or you find yourself dead, or you simply weren't really immersed in each of the words written by these great writers...
I extend a cordial invitation to each of those who read this little text to give themselves the opportunity to delight in each one of the most eccentric delicacies that Russian literature itself offers us in this daily parade of ideas but not only to literature in itself but also, to all those external factors (History corresponding to the time of the writer you want to read) and internal factors that forged the unequivocal identity of each of the greatest writers...
Please, let us not let this great treasure be lost in the transit of time and space, for it would be a sin, and a deadly one, if we allowed Russian literature along with the history that is inherent in it to be lost for whatever reason. …