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.

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

I want to understand you, I study your obscure language.

My dreams, my dreams! What has become of their sweetness? What indeed has become of my youth?

A deception that elevates us is dearer than a host of low truths.

Inspiration is needed in geometry, just as much as in poetry.

I am married and happy. My only wish is that nothing will change.