The tiny madman in his padded cell.

Nothing revives the past so completely as a smell that was once associated with it.

We live not only in a world of thoughts, but also in a world of things. Words without experience are meaningless.

Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring.

There are some varieties of fiction that I never touch - mystery stories, for instance, which I abhor, and historical novels. I also detest the so-called "powerful" novel - full of commonplace obscenities and torrents of dialog.

I shall be dumped where the weed decays, And the rest is rust and stardust

Have you ever happened, reader, to feel that subtle sorrow of parting with an unloved abode? The heart does not break, as it does in parting with dear objects. The humid gaze does not wander around holding back a tear, as if it wished to carry away in it a trembling reflection of the abandoned spot; but in the best corner of our hearts we feel pity for the things which we did not bring to life with our breath, which we hardly noticed and are now leaving forever. This already dead iventory will not be resurrected in one's memory.