Steeds, Steeds, What Steeds! Has The Whirlwind

He Who Has Talent In Him Must Be Purer In Soul Than Anyone Else. Another Will Be Forgiven Much, But To Him It Will Not Be Forgiven. A Man Who Leaves The House In Bright, Festive Clothes Needs Only One Drop Of Mud Splashed From Under A Wheel, And People All Surround Him, Point Their Fingers At Him, And Talk About His Slovenliness, While The Same People Ignore Many Spots On Other Passers-by Who Are Wearing Everyday Clothes. For On Everyday Clothes The Spots Do Not Show.

There Are People Who Exist In This World Not Like Entities But Like The Speckles Or Spots On Something.

What Is Stronger In Us — Passion Or Habit? Or Are All The Violent Impulses, All The Whirl Of Our Desires And Turbulent Passions, Only The Consequence Of Our Ardent Age, And Is It Only Through Youth That They Seem Deep And Shattering?

Everything Resembles The Truth, Everything Can Happen To A Man.

Go Along, Go Along Quickly, And Set All You Have On The Table For Us. We Don't Want Doughnuts, Honey Buns, Poppy Cakes, And Other Dainties; Bring Us A Whole Sheep, Serve A Goat And Forty-year Old Mead! And Plenty Of Vodka, Not Vodka With All Sorts Of Fancies, Not With Raisins And Flavorings, But Pure Foaming Vodka, That Hisses And Bubbles Like Mad.