Jana Vasilcheva

“Да, мразя стария свят. Мразя глупостта му, равнодушието, невежеството, фашизма… А какво съм аз без всичко това? За мен то е хлябът и водата. Разчистете света около мен, направете го такъв, какъвто искам да го видя, и с мен е свършено. Не умея да възхвалявам, мразя възхвалите, а няма да има какво да ругая, няма да има какво да мразя — мъка, смърт… Новият свят ще бъде строг, справедлив, мъдър и стерилно чист — аз няма да му бъда нужен, в него ще бъда кръгла нула. Аз му бях нужен, когато се борех за него… А щом не съм му нужен, значи и той не ми е нужен, но ако той не ми е нужен, защо се боря за него? … Ех, къде останаха добрите стари времена, когато човек можеше да отдаде живота си на построяването на новия свят, а да умре в стария. Но нали не можеш да се бориш против нещо, без да се бориш за нещо! Какво излиза тогава? Значи, когато сечеш гората, най-много ще си изпати именно клонът, на който седиш…”
― Arkady Strugatsky, Хромая судьба

“Now then, in the earth these people cannot stand much church -- an hour and a quarter is the limit, and they draw the line at once a week. That is to say, Sunday. One day in seven; and even then they do not look forward to it with longing. And so -- consider what their heaven provides for them: "church" that lasts forever, and a Sabbath that has no end! They quickly weary of this brief hebdomadal Sabbath here, yet they long for that eternal one; they dream of it, they talk about it, they think they think they are going to enjoy it -- with all their simple hearts they think they think they are going to be happy in it!”
― Mark Twain, Letters from the Earth: Uncensored Writings

“The Earth is beautiful, and bright, and kindly, but that is not all. The Earth is also terrible, and dark, and cruel. The rabbit shrieks dying in the green meadows. The mountains clench their great hands full of hidden fire. There are sharks in the sea, and there is cruelty in men’s eyes.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Tombs of Atuan

“The heavy black she had worn for years was gone; her dress was of turquoise-colored silk, bright and soft as the evening sky. It belled out full from her hips, and all the skirt was embroidered with thin silver threads and seed pearls and tiny crumbs of crystal, so that it glittered softly, like rain in April. She looked at the magician, speechless. “Do you like it?” “Where—” “It’s like a gown I saw a princess wear once, at the Feast of Sun-return in the New Palace in Havnor,” he said, looking at it with satisfaction. “You told me to show you something worth seeing. I show you yourself.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Tombs of Atuan