Courage: Great Russian word, fit for the songs of our children's children, pure on their tongues, and free.

... he is rewarded with a form of eternal childhood, with the bounty and vigilance of the stars, the whole world was his inheritance and he shared it with everyone.

But here, in the murk of conflagration, where scarcely a friend is left to know we, the survivors, do not flinch from anything, not from a single blow. Surely the reckoning will be made after the passing of this cloud. We are the people without tears, straighter than you ... more proud.

You will hear thunder and remember me, and think: she wanted storms.

Wild honey smells of freedom The dust - of sunlight The mouth of a young girl, like a violet But gold - smells of nothing.

My shadow serves as the friend I crave

Real tenderness can't be confused, It's quiet and can't be heard.