Ah, professor, if only you had discovered a way of rejuvenating hair!” Chapter 2.
Don’t be afraid, Queen, the blood has long run down into the earth. And on the spot where it was spilled, grapevines are growing today.
But this is what disturbs me: if there is no God, then, the question is, who is in control of man’s life and the whole order of things on earth?
Cowardice is the most terrible of vices.
He who never hurries is always on time.
What would your good do if evil didn’t exist, and what would the earth look like if all the shadows disappeared?
There’s only one degree of freshness – the first, which makes it also the last.
You pronounced your words as if you don’t acknowledge the shadows, or the evil either. Would you be so kind as to give a little thought to the question of what your good would be doing if evil did not exist, and how the earth would look if the shadows were to disappear from it?
The tongue may hide the truth but the eyes – never!
Once upon a time there was a lady. She had no children, and no happiness either. And at first she cried for a long time, but then she became wicked...
The procurator studied the new arrival with avid, and slightly fearful eyes. It was the kind of look one gives someone one has heard of and thought a lot about, and whom one is meeting for the first time.
Well, as everyone knows, once witchcraft gets started, there’s no stopping it.
Punch a man on the nose, kick an old man downstairs, shoot somebody or any old thing like that, that’s my job. But argue with women in love – no thank you!
I suppose that in no educational institution can one become an educated person.
The most amazing combinations can result if you shuffle the pack enough.
No one’s fate is of any interest to you except your own.
I had the pleasure of meeting that young man at the Patriarch’s Ponds. He almost drove me mad myself, proving to me that I don’t exist. But you do believe that it is really I?
Azazello begged her not to worry, assuring her that he had seen not only naked women but also women with their skin flayed clean off.
My writing is progressing slowly, but at least it’s moving forward. I’m sure that’s the case. The only problem is that I’m never absolutely certain that what I’ve written is any good.
What’s the use of dying in a ward surrounded by a lot of groaning and croaking incurables? Wouldn’t it be much better to throw a party with that twenty-seven thousand and take poison and depart for the other world to the sound of violins, surrounded by lovely drunken girls and happy friends?