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

I loved you; even now I may confess, Some embers of my love their fire retain; But do not let it cause you more distress, I do not want to sadden you again. Hopeless and tongue tied, yet I loved you dearly With pangs the jealous and the timid know; So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely, I pray God grant another love you so.

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

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

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

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

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