Оur greatest enemies have been the know-it-alls. They are like bad gardeners. They borrow others’ eyes, since they lack their own eyes; they borrow other’s hearts, since they lack their own heart; they borrow other’s minds, since they lack their own mind.
What a calm genius is the genius of the Armenian people. Balanced, simple, bright and sober. We compare, examine and inspect, without a trace or sign of bloodshed, but rather tranquility, sincerity, pure sunny serenity.
For centuries, we have been passing by the life. We make offerings of madagh at half-ruined churches, while becoming sacrifices ourselves. The Armenian soul is a remote memory, kind of a relic we commune with from afar, invoking it mechanically а few times a year and treating it as an occasion for celebration, and then we return to the bazaar of our daily life to peddle our petty sentiments and petty ideas, cheap knock-offs from Russia and Europe.
Costan Zarian (compiler Yuri Khachatrian), Towards Ararat (Yerevan, Sargis Khachents publishing house, 2001) page 298.
