They're Thinking Of Turning The Peasant Into

Man Is Such A Wondrous Being That It Is Never Possible To Count Up All His Merits At Once. The More You Study Him, The More New Particulars Appear, And Their Description Would Be Endless.

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.

It's The Most Righteous, Which Of Course Is Not The Same Thing As The Most Profitable.

What Is Stronger In Us — Passion Or Habit? Or Are All The Violent Impulses, All The Whirl Of Our Desires And Turbulent Passions, Only The Consequence Of Our Ardent Age, And Is It Only Through Youth That They Seem Deep And Shattering?

They Don’t Listen To Me, They Don’t Hear Me, They Don’t See Me.