«Farewell, dirty, unwashed Russia, / Country of masters, land of slaves, / And you, you sky-blue uniforms, / And you, people by them betrayed. Perhaps beyond the Caucasus' wall / I'll be hidden from your overlords, / Shielded from their all-seeing eyes, / Screened from their all-hearing...»
«In my exile I observe the sacred, / Congenial custom of antiquity / And release a bird into freedom / On the bright holiday of spring. / I become capable of serenity; / For what reason do I curse God / When just to one of his creatures / I’m empowered freedom to grant!»
«Life goes on, defying common sense. / Old men chatter in the southern sun: / “Moscow ballrooms… The weather in Simbirsk… / The War… Kerensky… We had freedom then…” Before you know it — forty years in France, / a buzzing in the head, chill in the bones. / “Masonic plot…...»
«Should I tell you about all the fools of the world / Who the fate of the entire humanity hold? Should I tell you about all scumbags, dead clowns, / Who pass into history in white crowns? But what for? / ……….It’s quiet under a Paris bridge, / I don’t care if after me there’s the»