In A Certain State It Is Indecent

New Ways I Go, A New Speech Comes To Me; Weary I Grow, Like All Creators, Of The Old Tongues. My Spirit No Longer Wants To Walk On Worn Soles.

In Russia There Is An Emigration Of Intelligence: émigrés Cross The Frontier In Order To Read And To Write Good Books. But In Doing So They Contribute To Making Their Fatherland, Abandoned By Spirit, Into The Gaping Jaws Of Asia That Would Like To Swallow Our Little Europe.

Character Is Determined More By The Lack Of Certain Experiences Than By Those One Has Had.

Away From God And Gods Did This Will Lure Me: What Would There Be To Create If Gods Existed?

How Poisonous, How Crafty, How Bad, Does Every Long War Make One, Which Cannot Be Waged Openly By Means Of Force!