Mother Russia is on the move, she can't stand still, she's restless and can't find rest, she's talking and she can't stop.

What for centuries raised man above the beast is not the cudgel but the irresistible power of unarmed truth.

I am caught like a beast at bay. Somewhere are people, freedom, light, But all I hear is the baying of the pack, There is no way out for me.

Art is unthinkable without risk and spiritual self-sacrifice.

About dreams. It is usually taken for granted that you dream of something that has made a particularly strong impression on you during the day, but it seems to me it´s just the contrary. Often it´s something you paid no attention to at the time -- a vague thought that you didn´t bother to think out to the end, words spoken without feeling and which passed unnoticed -- these are the things that return at night, clothed in flesh and blood, and they become the subjects of dreams, as if to make up for having been ignored during waking hours.

But the division in him was a sorrow and a torment, and he became accustomed to it only as one gets used to an unhealed and frequently reopened wound.

The last moments slipped by, one by one, irretrievable.