stavrogin

What I've learned from this exchange is that you're weirder than I thought.

I love controlled chaos.

Many times I have heard men tell
that there be joy in heaven and pain in hell.

When in April the sweet showers fall
And pierce the drought of March to the root, and all
The veins are bathed in liquor of such power
As brings about the engendering of the flower,
When also Zephyrus with his sweet breath
Exhales an air in every grove and heath
Upon the tender shoots, and the young sun
His half-course in the sign of the Ram has run,
And the small fowl are making melody
That sleep away the night with open eye
(So nature pricks them and their heart engages)
Then people long to go on pilgrimages

Now I understand why people write poems about spring.