Thus people--so it seems to me-- Become good friends from sheer ennui.

I do not like Moscow life. You live here not as you want to live, but as old women want you to.

I've lived to bury my desires and see my dreams corrode with rust now all that's left are fruitless fires that burn my empty heart to dust. Struck by the clouds of cruel fate My crown of Summer bloom is sere Alone and sad, I watch and wait And wonder if the end is near. As conquered by the last cold air When Winter whistles in the wind Alone upon a branch that's bare A trembling leaf is left behind.

Unrequited love is not an affront to man but raises him.

Cabbage soup and barley. They're Russia's national food. Both excellent in their way, but a shade monotonous.

Try to be forgotten. Go live in the country. Stay in mourning for two years, then remarry, but choose somebody decent.

But even friendship like our heroes' Exist no more; for we've outgrown All sentiments and deem men zeroes-- Except of course ourselves alone. We all take on Napoleon's features, And millions of our fellow creatures Are nothing more to us than tools... Since feelings are for freaks and fools. Eugene, of course, had keen perceptions And on the whole despised mankind, Yet wasn't, like so many, blind; And since each rule permits exceptions, He did respect a noble few, And, cold himself, gave warmth its due.