Information paints no picture, sings no song, and writes no poem.
We have an infinite supply of information and yet we cannot read.
Chiunque voglia sinceramente la verità è sempre spaventosamente forte.
You’re not Dostoevsky,’ said the citizeness, who was getting muddled by Koroviev. Well, who knows, who knows,’ he replied. ‘Dostoevsky’s dead,’ said the citizeness, but somehow not very confidently. ‘I protest!’ Behemoth exclaimed hotly. ‘Dostoevsky...
He longed to revenge himself on everyone for his own unseemliness