Why do they do it?
No one knows.

Even a log could be told from another by its knot at least, while here they want to plane the people over so that all of them should look alike.

The coffin is already waiting for us old people.

Ye-es! It may be that about fifty years hence, no one will believe that I lived in this world.

I, Anany, the son of Savva, by the surname of Shchurov.