Book: Diary. Book 1. 1901-1929 years.

... went to court on the matter Baturova (Card state Monopoly). The case of the ordinary: the company of today's youth stood at the head of the Card factory. <...> most Often, behind the facade of compras hidden "enrich". They enriched themselves - robbed the Treasury, as best they could. They were in this case more talented than others, and that's all. Not felt any difference between their mentality and mentality of all others. A country where you still believe the papers, not people, where, under the guise of high slogans often lies very low, "petty-bourgeois" practice, all is full of such as they. They're only slightly intercepted over the edge. But they are flesh of our everyday life. So all over the room - between them and the audience the most intimate connection. "We are". <...> In all this I was struck by one. It turns out that people are so afraid to love wine, women and entertainment in General, that's because this boring nonsense is going to the most cruel judicial torture. Nothing else but women, wine, restaurants and other anguish, those poor loser is not produced. But women can get and free, - especially so young and cute - and the wine? - Yes do go to the Hermitage is no more happiness? Do no they never said that, for example, to read feta is sweeter than wine? I recently had Dobychin, and I began to read feta one poem after another, and all could not stop, choose your favorite, and have experienced such bliss that seemed out - and could not imagine that somewhere there are people for whom this is dead and unnecessary. It turns out that we are only in the anniversary articles say that the poetry of FET is "one of the highest achievements of Russian poetry" and what is this lyrics - is happiness, which can fill up to the top of the man, that almost no one knows: I did not know and Batalov did not know and Eve. Don't know either Entin, neither the judge nor the Prosecutor. Russian embezzler knows he's got a little public money, so we immediately rush to the filthy tavern, pour to vomit the wine, kiss painted semi-literate fools, and enjoying such a miserable and incompetent "happiness", to fall into the clutches of boring investigators, judges, prosecutors. Oh, what a bore, what was intended. Just remarkable that it's not the wasters sitting on the benches for the audience, too, dream about such happiness. Each local citizen imagining - as the limit of pleasure - Emma, brandy, sleepless night in the pub. Other pleasures he can not imagine. Give him the money, he would run for these benefits.