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.

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

It's a lucky man, a very lucky man, who is committed to what he believes, who has stifled intellectual detachment and can relax in the luxury of his emotions - like a tipsy traveller resting for the night at wayside inn.

If you but knew the flames that burn in me which I attempt to beat down with my reason.

Play interests me very much," said Hermann: "but I am not in the position to sacrifice the necessary in the hope of winning the superfluous.

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

It is better to have dreamed a thousand dreams that never were than never to have dreamed at all.