M. AND. Lopukhina (2 September 1832 r. From St. Petersburg to Moscow)

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2 September.
Now I began to draw something for you and, may be, I will send you a picture with the same letter. Do you know, Dear friend, I will write to you? In fits and starts - one letter will sometimes take several days; I will come up with the idea, I will write it; if something remarkable takes my mind, I share with you. Are you satisfied with this?
For the past few weeks, As we parted, and, may be, permanently, because in front of I do not see anything particularly comforting; but I am still the same, contrary to the assumptions of some crafty people, which will not be called. You can imagine my delight, when I saw Natalia Alekseevnu, she had come out of our seats, because Moscow is my home and it will always remain. There I was born, там много страдал и там же был слишком счастлив! – лучше бы этих трех вещей не было, but what to do!
M-lle Annette told me, that has not yet been erased from the wall of the famous head! - Miserable ambition! It made me happy, moreover as! What a stupid passion to leave traces of their presence everywhere! Is it worth the human mind, as though it may be significant, real fix is ​​only for the sake of, to become more clear souls; presumably, that people are not made to think, because the idea of ​​a strong and free - so for them a rarity!
I set out to fill you with his letters and poems; it is not very friendly and did not even humanely, but everyone must follow his destiny.
Here are the verses, I wrote at the seaside:

Long and winding road ...

Farewell, Farewell, - I do not quite feel good: happy dream, divine dream ruined my entire day ... I can not say no, not read, nor write. The strange thing is these dreams! The flip side of life, often more enjoyable, than reality ... because I do not share the views of those, who says, if life is all just a dream; I am quite palpably feel its reality, her alluring emptiness! I will never turn away from her so, so from the heart despise her, For my life - I myself, the, who speaks to you, - and who in an instant can become nothing, one name, that is, again, to nothing. God knows, whether there is a "me" after life! I shudder to think, that one day, when you can not say: I! With this thought the universe is only a lump of dirt.
Farewell, do not forget to remind me to his brother and sisters, cousin same, I suppose, He has not returned.
Tell, dear Miss Mary, Do you handed my cousin, Mr. Evreinov, my letters and how you liked it? Because in this case, I'll choose my thermometer.
Farewell.
Yours truly Lerma.
R. S. I would really like to ask you a small question, but the pen refuses to write. If you guess right - good, I'll be happy; if not - then, I ask this question, you still have not been able to answer it.
It is this kind of question, which, may be, and you can not think of!

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Mikhail Lermontov
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