In This, Our Age Of

In This, Our Age Of Infamy Man's Choice Is But To Be A Tyrant, Traitor, Prisoner: No Other Choice Has He.

But Even Friendship Like Our Heroes' Exist No More; For We've Outgrown All Sentiments And Deem Men Zeroes-- Except Of Course Ourselves Alone. We All Take On Napoleon's Features, And Millions Of Our Fellow Creatures Are Nothing More To Us Than Tools... Since Feelings Are For Freaks And Fools. Eugene, Of Course, Had Keen Perceptions And On The Whole Despised Mankind, Yet Wasn't, Like So Many, Blind; And Since Each Rule Permits Exceptions, He Did Respect A Noble Few, And, Cold Himself, Gave Warmth Its Due.

Moscow... How Many Strains Are Fusing In That One Sound, For Russian Hearts! What Store Of Riches It Imparts!

As Long As There Is One Heart On Earth Where I Still Live, My Memory Will Not Die.

My Dreams, My Dreams! What Has Become Of Their Sweetness? What Indeed Has Become Of My Youth?