Everything Resembles The Truth, Everything Can Happen

Countless As The Sands Of Sea Are Human Passions, And Not All Of Them Are Alike, And All Of Them, Base And Noble Alike, Are At First Obedient To Man And Only Later On Become His Terrible Masters.

But There Is Nothing Enduring In The World, And Therefore Even Joy In The Second Minute Is Already Not As Acute As In The First; In The Third Minute It Becomes Still Weaker And Finally Merges Unnoticeably With The Usual Condition Of The Soul, As A Circle On The Water, Caused By The Fall Of A Pebble, Finally Merges With The Smooth Surface.

Countless Are, As The Sand In The Sea, The Deep Desires Of Men, And None Resembles The Other, And All Of Them, Whether Shameful, Or Great, In The Beginning Are Obedient, But Later Become Terrible Masters Over Him.

As It Is So Strangely Ordained In This World, What Is Amusing Will Turn Into Being Gloomy, If You Stand Too Long Before It, And Then God Knows What Ideas May Not Stray Into The Mind... Why Is It That Even In Moments Of Unthinking, Careless Gaiety A Different And Strange Mood Comes Upon One?

In The Course Of Reading He [alexander Pushkin] Became More And More Melancholy And Finally Became Completely Gloomy. When The Reading Was Over He Uttered In A Voice Full Of Sorrow: "goodness, How Sad Is Our Russia!"