To desire and expect nothing for oneself and to have profound sympathy for others is genuine holiness.

Death's an old joke, but each individual encounters it anew.

Only one thing bothered me: at this very moment, as they say, of inexplicable bliss there would be a sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach and my abdomen would be assailed by a melancholy, cold shivering. In the end I couldn't abide such happiness and ran away.

I must say, though, that a man who has staked his whole life on the card of a woman's love and who, when that card is trumped, falls to pieces and lets himself go to the dogs -- a fellow like that is not a man, not a male. You say he's unhappy -- you know best. But all the nonsense hasn't been taken out of him yet. I'm sure he really believes he's a smart fellow just because he reads that rag Galignani and saves a muzhik from a flogging once a month.

Nature creates while destroying, and doesn't care whether it creates or destroys as long as life isn't extinguished, as long as death doesn't lose its rights.

That is what poetry can do. It speaks to us of what does not exist, which is not only better than what exists, but even more like the truth.

He was the soul of politeness to everyone -- to some with a hint of aversion, to others with a hint of respect.