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