Also, Though Not Over-elderly, He Was Not

There Are Passions That It Is Not For Man To Choose.

This Was Not The Old Chichikov. This Was Some Wreckage Of The Old Chichikov. The Inner State Of His Soul Might Be Compared To A Demolished Building, Which Has Been Demolished So That From It A New One Could Be Built; But The New One Has Not Been Started Yet, Because The Infinitive Plan Has Not Yet Come From The Architect And The Workers Are Left In Perplexity.

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.

Go Along, Go Along Quickly, And Set All You Have On The Table For Us. We Don't Want Doughnuts, Honey Buns, Poppy Cakes, And Other Dainties; Bring Us A Whole Sheep, Serve A Goat And Forty-year Old Mead! And Plenty Of Vodka, Not Vodka With All Sorts Of Fancies, Not With Raisins And Flavorings, But Pure Foaming Vodka, That Hisses And Bubbles Like Mad.