Character: Martyn Prokofitch Narokov

Look here! (Indicates his head.) Gray-haired, bald! And here I am feeling young, fresh, and youthful.

You white dove in a black flock of rooks, so they peck you. White, clean your insulting them.

Lirova there is between us.

Flour me with you! All you have a lot of excess, and many are missing. Boring, looking at you. Comedians have a lot of extra comic, and you have a lot of unnecessary tragedy; not enough and you have grace... grace, action. And the measure of what is art... You are actors, you jokers!

Do you think if a man is in love, it's ham... and eaten? From fine fragrances woven my soul.

I, an educated man, with a delicate taste, now living among a rude people, that at every step of an insult to my artistic sense.

Hard-to-find talent, the fans are always there.