Sublime

‘Manuscripts don’t burn’,

a universe made dangerous by the gift of free will,

There were people flocking to him from all directions. He held the key to every heart.

Pyotr Alexandrovich Miusov,

you to calm yourself. How awkward this all is, my

me: imagine that you yourself are building the edifice of human destiny with the object of making people happy in the finale, of giving them peace and rest at last, but for that you must inevitably and unavoidably torture just one tiny creature, that same child who was beating her chest with her little fist, and raise your edifice on the foundation

Вы посудите, Иван Григорьевич: пятый десяток живу, ни разу не был болен; хоть бы горло заболело, веред или чирей выскочил... Нет, не к добру! когда-нибудь придется поплатиться за это.

Gulchekhra, our “host mother”—they really called her that, as if we were tapeworms—came outside.

‘Cowardice is the most terrible of vices’—which