Pushkin, Akhmatova, and the passionate soul of Russian poetry.
The illusion which exalts us is dearer to us than ten thousand truths
— Alexander Pushkin
"The illusion which exalts us is dearer to us than ten thousand truths"
I loved you; even now I may confess, some embers of my love …
"I loved you; even now I may confess, some embers of my love their fire retain"
Habit is given to us from above: it is a substitute for happiness
"Habit is given to us from above: it is a substitute for happiness"
Inspiration is needed in geometry just as much as in poetry
"Inspiration is needed in geometry just as much as in poetry"
But I warn you, I am living for the last time.
— Anna Akhmatova
"But I warn you, I am living for the last time."
I have learned how faces fall to bone, how under the eyelids terror lurks.
"I have learned how faces fall to bone, how under the eyelids terror lurks."
To my poems, written so early, scattered in dust among bookshops.
— Marina Tsvetaeva
"To my poems, written so early, scattered in dust among bookshops."
I can't tell if the day is ending, or the world, or if the secret of secrets is inside me again.
"I can't tell if the day is ending, or the world, or if the secret of secrets is ..."
"February. Get ink, shed tears."
My day is disorderly and senseless: I beg crumbs of the poor.
"My day is disorderly and senseless: I beg crumbs of the poor."
To live a life is not to cross a field.
— Boris Pasternak
"To live a life is not to cross a field."
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