All things considered, it had been his home, and the set of kindly, well-meaning, gentle-mannered people driven to death or exile for the sole crime of their existing, was the set to which he too belonged. His dark youthful broodings, the romantic – and let me add, somewhat artificial – passion for his mother’s land, could not, I am sure, exclude real affection for the country where he had been born and bred.
-Vladimir Nabokov
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