Quotes from Aleksandr Pushkin

And yet from thought of death, my friends, I shrink; I want to live - to suffer and to think, To taste of care and grief and tribulation, Of rapture and of sweet exhilaration; Be drunk with harmony; touch fancy's strings And freely weep o'er its imaginings... And love's last flash, its smile of farewell tender My sad decline may yet less mournful render.

In this, our age of infamy Man's choice is but to be A tyrant, traitor, prisoner: No other choice has he.