There Exists A Kind Of Laughter Which

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?

But Wise Is The Man Who Disdains No Character, But With Searching Glance Explores Him To The Root And Cause Of All.

...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.

As Countless As Grains Of Sand By The Sea Are Human Passions, And They All Differ; All Of Them, Vile Or Lofty, Begin By Being Under A Man's Control And Then Become His Terrible Masters. Blessed Is He Who Has Chosen The Most Lofty Of Passions: His Immeasurable Bliss Grows And Multiplies Tenfold With Every Hour And Minute, And He Penetrates Deeper And Deeper Into The Infinite Paradise Of His Soul.

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!"