النفوس الميتة التي لاتزال تعيش
الدونية والعبوديتها للسلطة والمتنفذين
What winding, dead-end, narrow, impassable,
far-straying roads have been chosen by mankind in its attempts to attain
eternal truth, whereas before it the straight path lies open, like the path
that leads to a magnificent temple appointed as a mansion for a tsar! Broader
and more splendid it is than all other paths, bathed in sunlight and
illuminated by lamps the whole night long; yet past it people have streamed in
darkness obscure. And how many times already, guided by an intelligence that
comes down from the heavens, have they, even so, managed to fall back and go
astray, managed in broad daylight to blunder anew into impassable blackwaters,
contrived once more to becloud each other’s eyes with a blinding fog and,
plodding along in pursuit of some will-o’-the-wisps, managed at last to come to
an abyss, only then to ask each other in horror: ‘Where is the way out, where
is the road?’
Nikolai Gogol, Dead Souls
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