The Word Dropped Like A

As The Future Ripens In The Past, So The Past Rots In The Future -- A Terrible Festival Of Dead Leaves.

I Seem To Myself, As In A Dream, Am Accidental Guest In This Dreadful Body.

I Should Be Proud To Have My Memory Graced, But Only If The Monument Be Placed... Here, Where I Endured Three Hundred Hours In Line Before The Implacable Iron Bars.

A Choir Of Angels Glorified The Hour, The Vault Of Heaven Was Dissolved In Fire. "father, Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me? Mother, I Beg You, Do Not Weep For Me.

Courage: Great Russian Word, Fit For The Songs Of Our Children's Children, Pure On Their Tongues, And Free.