The Intelligentsia ...was Kept Busy Embroidering White

We Ever Long For Visions Of Beauty, We Ever Dream Of Unknown Worlds.

Politics Is The Soil In Which The Nettle Of Poisonous Enmity, Evil Suspicions, Shameless Lies, Slander, Morbid Ambitions, And Disrespect For The Individual Grows Rapidly And Luxuriantly. Name Anything Bad In Man And It Is Precisely In The Soil Of Political Struggle That It Grows With Particular Liveliness And Abundance.

We Kill Everybody, My Dear. Some With Bullets, Some With Words, And Everybody With Our Deeds. We Drive People Into Their Graves, And Neither See It Nor Feel It.

It Is Quiet Here And Restful And The Air Is Delicious. There Are Gardens Everywhere And Police Spies Lie In The Bushes. There Are Nightingales In Every Garden, But Police Spies Only In Mine, I Think. They Sit Under My Windows In The Darkness Of The Night And Try To Get A Glimpse Of How I Spread Sedition In Russia.

Be Good, Be Kind, Be Humane, And Charitable; Love Your Fellows; Console The Afflicted; Pardon Those Who Have Done You Wrong.