A Russian man was reflecting on his lack of greatness.
There was Peter Illyich Tchaikovsky, a brilliant composer of Russian if not quite nationalistic dramatic, warm and expansive melodies. He was homosexual, yet achieved greatness in the musical arts.
Ah, he said, there was Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogola, a writer of great imagination and style, sympathetic and realistic regarding ordinary Russian society. Here was a man who kept a busy hand and had to write with his other hand, but had great impact on future writers.
There was Vladimir Illyich Ulyanov, otherwise known as Lenin, who led from the front in putting the Bolsheviks into power. Here was a man who didn't exactly turn on women in bed, lacking performance, and yet inspired some generations of revolutionaries.
And here is me, heterosexual, ordinary, Russian: quite normal. What have I achieved?