"An old Russian folk-song is like water in a weir. It looks as if it were still and were no longer flowing but in its depths it is ceaselessly rushing through the sluice-gates and its stillness is an illusion. By every possible means - by repetitions and similes - it attempts to stop or to slow down the gradual unfolding of its theme, until it reaches some mysterious point, then it suddenly reveals itself. In this insane attempt to stop the flow of time, a sorrowful, self-restraining spirit finds it its expression."

From Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak