A simple, honest, quiet person is not interested in anyone. How he grazes the land there, grows wheat and red, trades, risking to ruin, clothing, carpentry, fishing, casting bells, sewing clothes, hunting, collecting mushrooms - no one cares.
But about the one who by force takes away all the fruits of boring everyday labor, and songs are composed, and ballads, and bulldozers, and epics. Of course, the books are composed.
The listener or reader always thinks of putting himself in the place of the robber, not the victim. It seems to be getting easier for him. It seems that for a moment in life justice is established.
The strong people of this world also love to listen, to read about the robbers, because they themselves are out of this class. All the kings-kings, counts and princes, barons and baronets in their time were industrialized in this field. Or their ancestors.
But the real good men from the long road are relentlessly persecuted and executed by the earth's authorities, so that they do not think to occupy them, the strong and powerful, the legally conquered place.
Nevertheless, songs in the people are composed not about the lute voivod, who with great labor, sometimes risking his life, caught and imprisoned the villain, but about this same villain - as he sits in a raw prison on a rust chain and thinks, and demands: open, say, my prison, bring a faithful horse and a red maid for complete happiness.
Maybe he has a lawyer in the room?"

M. Uspensky, "The Innocent Girl with a Bag of Gold"