Moscow... how many strains are fusing in that one sound, for Russian hearts! what store of riches it imparts!

The clock of doom had struck as fated; the poet, without a sound, let fall his pistol on the ground.

Sad that our finest aspiration Our freshest dreams and meditations, In swift succession should decay, Like Autumn leaves that rot 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.

'I see the whole world open before me; the only place that remains sealed off is Poland, and suddenly I feel the atmosphere so close about me that at times it …

Life at Papeete soon became a burden. It was Europe, the Europe which I had thought to shake off - and that under the aggravating circumstances of colonial sno…

What captivity has been to the Jews, exile has been to the Irish. For us, the romance of our native land begins only after we have left home; it is really only…