“And the moujiks? How do the moujiks die?”

“Moujiks. Right. What's a moujik?" the Tsar asked."Peasants, your majesty.""Pheasants?""No! Peasants.”

“This Vladimir Brusiloff to whom I have referred was the famous Russian novelist. . . . Vladimir specialized in gray studies of hopeless misery, where nothing happened till page three hundred and eighty, when the moujik decided to commit suicide. . . . Cuthbert was an optimist at heart, and it seemed to him that, at the rate at which the inhabitants of that interesting country were murdering one another, the supply of Russian novelists must eventually give out.”

“How do you ask a man to be the last man to die in Vietnam? How do you ask a man to be the last man to die for a mistake?”

“Do I know what a man is ? Do I know how a man is supposed to die ? I’m still trying to find out how a man should live. Am I supposed to tell someone how to die who has never lived ?”

“Those who do not know how to live must make a merit of dying.”