The illusion which exalts us is dearer to us than ten thousand truths. - Alexander Pushkin

Why rave ye, babblers, so -- ye lords of popular wonder?

I was born for the peaceful life,
for rural quiet:
the lyre's voice in the wild is more resounding,
creative dreams are more alive.
To harmless leisures consecrated,
I wander by a wasteful lake
and far niente is my rule.
By every morn I am awakened
unto sweet mollitude and freedom;
little I read, a lot I sleep,
fugitive fame do not pursue.
Was it not thus in former years,
that I spent in inaction, in the shade,
my happiest days?

Пора, мой друг, пора! покоя сердце просит — Летят за днями дни, и каждый час уносит
Частичку бытия, а мы с тобой вдвоем
Предполагаем жить... И глядь — как раз — умрем.
На свете счастья нет, но есть покой и воля.
Давно завидная мечтается мне доля — Давно, усталый раб, замыслил я побег
В обитель дальную трудов и чистых нег.