Солнце нашей поэзии закатилось! Пушкин скончался, скончался во цвете л — Aleksandr Pushkin

"Прошла любовь, явилась Муза, И прояснился темный ум. Свободен, вновь ищу союза Волшебных звуков, чувств и дум;"

"God save us from seeing a Russian revolt, senseless and merciless. Those who plot impossible upheavals among us, are either young and do not know our people, or are hard-hearted men who do not care a straw either about their own lives or those of others."

"Send me, Almighty, I petition, In porticoes or at a ball No bonneted academician, No seminarist in a yellow shawl! No more than in red lips unsmiling Can I find anything beguiling In grammar-perfect Russian speech. What purist magazines beseech, A novel breed of belles may heed it, And bend us (for my life of sin) To strict grammatic discipline, Prescribing meter, too, where needed; But I - what is all this to me? I like things as they used to be"

"When the loud day for men who sow and reap Grows still, and on the silence of the town The insubstantial veils of night and sleep, The meed of the days labour, settle down, Then for me in the stillness of the night The wasting, watchful hours drag on their course, And in the idle darkness comes the bite Of all the burning serpents of remorse; Dreams seethe; and fretful infelicities Are swarming in my over-burdened soul, And Memory before my wakeful eyes With noiseless hand unwinds her lengthy scroll. Then, as with loathing I peruse the years, I tremble, and I curse my natal day, Wail bitterly, and bitterly shed tears, But cannot wash the woeful script away."

"The less we show our love to a woman, Or please her less, and neglect our duty, The more we trap and ruin her surely In the flattering toils of philandery."

"The illusion which exalts us is dearer to us than ten thousand truths."