A Word Aptly Uttered Or Written Cannot

However Stupid A Fools Words May Be, They Are Sometimes Enough To Confound An Intelligent Man.

...and Sank Into The Profound Slumber Which Comes Only To Such Fortunate Folk As Are Troubled Neither With Mosquitoes Nor Fleas Nor Excessive Activity Of Brain.

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!"

How Much Savage Coarseness Is Concealed In Refined, Cultivated Manners.

I Shall Laugh My Bitter Laugh.