A Gentleman in Moscow

All poetry is a call to action.

That sense of loss is exactly what we must anticipate, prepare for, and cherish to the last of our days; for it is only our heartbreak that finally refutes all that is ephemeral in love.

A Barolo,” the Count explained as helpfully as he could, “is a full-bodied red from northern Italy.

, when a man has been underestimated by a friend, he has some cause for taking offense—since it is our friends who should overestimate our capacities.

As at home in tin as it is in Limoges, coffee can energize the industrious at dawn, calm the reflective at noon, or raise the spirits of the beleagured in the middle of the night.

Were one to ask Larousse to define the word cabinet, the acclaimed lexicographer might reply: A piece of furniture often adorned with decorative detail in which items may be stowed away from sight.

The commonest way of softening the hearts of those we have offended, when, vengeance in hand, they hold us at their mercy, is by submission to move them to commiseration and pity. However, audacity and steadfastness—entirely contrary means—have sometimes served to produce the same effect. . . .

imagining what might happen if one’s circumstances were different was the only sure route to madness.

“A king fortifies himself with a castle,” observed the Count, “a gentleman with a desk.”

“I see the blackberries have come in early this year!”