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Project 1917 is a series of events that took place a hundred years ago as described by those involved. It is composed only of diaries, letters, memoirs, newspapers and other documents

Рано, в шесть, проснулся. Подавленное состояние. Отупел я, обездарел, как живу, что вижу! Позор!   See more

I'm still reading Fet (a lot of vulgarity, very weak, repetitive), trying to write poetry. Turns out very poor.

I woke up at six. Stayed in bed for an hour. I feel down. I'm thinking that the world might grow empty for me soon. Where have my former carelessness and hope gone! My soul feels numb, empty, I've got nothing to say, nothing to write, I'm trying - and it's just a trade, a pathetic, dead one. Yesterday Breshkovsky appealed to the youth - "go educate the people"! 

I avoid going outside. It hurts, something's not right with my throat. It's almost a summer day. I'm still reading Fet. 

The night is dark, it's raining the whole time. I visited the mill today. The men a full of rage on the inside. Talking is pointless!

Please tell me immediately if you have bought tobacco for me. If you have, I will send you money right away. Tell me how much.

It is very cold in the morning, I was behind the garden, leaves were flying from the maple trees, I picked one up.

I finished reading Gippius. An incredibly disgusting soul, not a single vivid word, various fantasies driven into stupid rhymes. She doesn't have a jot of poetic soul.

I was reading Vernon Lee and thinking about Naples, Capri, and recalled Florence. I leant out of the window. In the garden darkened by the rain, a magpie with clawing talons came over the fence, smiled at me amicably and cordially shook his tail. It’s like our souls are one!

Dear Peter, us smokers are having a terrible time here getting our hands on tobacco, but, I imagine, you fortunates in the south can still get as much as you want, See more

I am living in the country and do not write a thing- I am poisoned by the newspapers.

Men came to the treasury to demand they be given all that remains in the vaults: "After all, this is royal money, and now the tsar is gone, the money is now ours."

All these days of late have encouraged a sense of youth, a poetic yearning for some kind of southern escape (as always in good weather), and thoughts about chance encounters...

Recertification of people exempt from military service. Enlistment, enlistment! Idiots.

Living in the country has become repulsive. The muzhiks are entirely childlike and loathsome in the extreme. Anarchy reigns supreme in the countryside, and headstrong imbecility, and idiotic incomprehension not only of “slogans” but of simple human words—it’s shocking. Oh, our intelligentsia—that despicable tribe that has completely lost its instinct for life and has begun to lie relentlessly about this class of people entirely unknown to it—our intelligentsia will still remember my “Village” and all the rest! See more