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Moscow, how many strains are fusing in that one sound, for Russian hearts! What store of riches it imparts!

Alexander Pushkin

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Fearing no insult, asking for no crown, receive with indifference both flattery and slander, and do not argue with a fool.
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Sad that our finest aspiration, Our freshest dreams and meditations, In swift succession should decay, Like Autumn leaves that rot away.
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Ecstasy is a glass full of tea and a piece of sugar in the mouth.
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Write for pleasure and publish for money.
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To love all ages yield surrender; But to the young it’s raptures bring A blessing bountiful and tender- As storms refresh the fields of spring.
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I was not born to amuse the Tsars.
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