I Don't Know Why You Use A

Being Seventy Is Not A Sin. It's Not A Joy, Either.

This Country Exists As The Fulfillment Of A Promise Made By God Himself. It Would Be Ridiculous To Ask It To Account For Its Legitimacy.

Glorious Bouquets And Storms Of Applause Are The Trimmings Which Every Artist Naturally Enjoys.

From Russia I Didn't Bring Out A Single Happy Memory, Only Sad, Tragic Ones. The Nightmare Of Pogroms, The Brutality Of Cossacks Charging Young Socialists, Fear, Shrieks Of Terror.

Men Who Have Reached And Passed Forty-five, Have A Look As If Waiting For The Secret Of The Other World, And As If They Were Perfectly Sure Of Having Found Out The Secret Of This.