It Is No Use To Blame The

You Can't Imagine How Stupid The Whole World Has Grown Nowadays.

It's Not My Job To Preach A Sermon. Art Is Anyhow A Homily. My Job Is To Speak In Living Images, Not In Arguments. I Must Exhibit Life Full-face, Not Discuss Life.

In The Course Of Reading He [alexander Pushkin] Became More And More Melancholy And Finally Became Completely Gloomy. When The Reading Was Over He Uttered In A Voice Full Of Sorrow: "goodness, How Sad Is Our Russia!"

The Lord Grant We May All Be Tillers Of The Soil.

I Am Very Fond Of The Modest Manner Of Life Of Those Solitary Owners Of Remote Villages, Who In Little Russia Are Commonly Called "old-fashioned," Who Are Like Tumbledown Picturesque Little Houses, Delightful In Their Simplicity And Complete Unlikeness To The New Smooth Buildings Whose Walls Have Not Yet Been Discolored By The Rain, Whose Roofs Are Not Yet Covered With Green Lichen, And Whose Porch Does Not Display Its Bricks Through The Peeling Stucco.