Does the world have nothing inside but sorrow?

I want my word to be up to the scale of the feat of arms performed by the Russian soldier.

We can't feel anything - all that's left inside us is dust.

I have a trend of my own.

Does the world have nothing inside but sorrow?

Busy remaking the world, man forgot to remake himself.

What if we all suddenly get carried away thinking - who will be left to act?