Nunca seré un hombre perfecto, porque tengo un corazón que muere y mata. Que si puede elegir prefiere zozobra e incertidumbre, aeliminar el azar en su camino. Nadie me obliga, si no es mi voluntad, a elegir la dirección en la que vuelo cada día...
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El sol despuntaba por entre los bosques de alerces y abedules cuando Aleksey Borísovich Repin, echó al hombro su bolsa de viaje, en la que apenas cabían sus ..."
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