Blest who was youthful in his youth; blest who matured at the right time; who gradually the chill of life with years was able to withstand; who never was addicted to strange dreams; who did not shun the fashionable rabble; who was at twenty fop or blade, and then at thirty, profitably married; who rid himself at fifty of private and of other debts; who fame, money, and rank in due course calmly gained; about whom lifelong one kept saying: [he] is an excellent man.
Aleksandr Pushkin, Eugene Onegin, Ch. 8, Verse X
The years of youth would have elapsed: the fervor of the soul cooled down in him. He would have changed in many ways, have parted with the Muses, married, up in the country, happy and cornute, have worn a quilted dressing gown; learned life in its reality, at forty, had the gout, drunk, eaten, moped, got fat, decayed, and in his bed, at last, died in the midst of children, weepy females, and medicos.
Aleksandr Pushkin, Eugene Onegin, Ch. 6, Verse XXXIX
Lest there be any confusion, let me state this loud and clear:
My generation is so pissed at you for causing global climate change.
Furthermore, we’re pissed at you for your active and persistent refusal to change any and all climate change-causing behaviors. I know you’re not worried because you’ll be dead before it really hits, but you know what? We’ll still be here.
You can say all you want about our apathy when engaging in generational verbal warfare, but when all is said and done, everybody knows you’re making what we like to call a total dick move.