Manuscripts Don't Burn.

Once Upon A Time There Was A Lady. She Had No Children, And No Happiness Either. And At First She Cried For A Long Time, But Then She Became Wicked.

"we Speak Different Languages, As Usual," Responded Woland, "but This Does Not Change The Things We Speak About. Well?..."

It Must Be Added That From His First Words The Foreigner Made A Repellent Impression On The Poet, But Berlioz Rather Liked Him - That Is, Not Liked But . . . How To Put It . . . Was Interested, Or Whatever.

What's The Use Of Dying In A Ward Surrounded By A Lot Of Groaning And Croaking Incurables? Wouldn't It Be Much Better To Throw A Party With That Twenty-seven Thousand And Take Poison And Depart For The Other World To The Sound Of Violins, Surrounded By Lovely Drunken Girls And Happy Friends?

And A Fact Is The Most Stubborn Thing In The World.