There Are Passions That It Is Not

In The End Dreams Became His Life, And His Whole Life Thereafter Took A Strange Turn: One Might Say He Slept While Waking And Watched While Asleep.

Nothing Could Be More Pleasant Than To Live In Solitude, Enjoy The Spectacle Of Nature, And Occasionally Read Some Book.

But Youth Has A Future. The Closer He Came To Graduation, The More His Heart Beat. He Said To Himself: “this Is Still Not Life, This Is Only The Preparation For Life.

I Am Very Fond Of The Modest Manner Of Life Of Those Solitary Owners Of Remote Villages, Who In Little Russia Are Commonly Called "old-fashioned," Who Are Like Tumbledown Picturesque Little Houses, Delightful In Their Simplicity And Complete Unlikeness To The New Smooth Buildings Whose Walls Have Not Yet Been Discolored By The Rain, Whose Roofs Are Not Yet Covered With Green Lichen, And Whose Porch Does Not Display Its Bricks Through The Peeling Stucco.

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.