Even In Siberia There Is Happiness.

Our Pride And Self-importance Are European, While Our Development And Actions Are Asiatic.

This Life Of Ours...human Life Is Like A Flower Gloriously Blooming In A Meadow: Along Comes A Goat, Eats It Up---no More Flower.

Love, Friendship And Respect Do Not Unite People As Much As Common Hatred For Something.

The Teacher Must Be An Actor, An Artist,passionately In Love With His Work.

Useless Pursuits And Conversations Always About The Same Things Absorb The Better Part Of One's Time, The Better Part Of One's Strength, And In The End There Is Left A Life Grovelling And Curtailed, Worthless And Trivial, And There Is No Escaping Or Getting Away From It—just As Though One Were In A Madhouse Or Prison.