Moscow, how many strains are fusing in that one sound, for Russian hearts! What store of riches it imparts!
ALEXANDER PUSHKINI am married and happy. My only wish is that nothing will change.
More Alexander Pushkin Quotes
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My dreams, my dreams! What has become of their sweetness? What indeed has become of my youth?
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Ecstasy is a glass full of tea and a piece of sugar in the mouth.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Don’t be sad, don’t be angry, if life deceives you! Submit to your grief – your time for joy will come, believe me.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Habit is Heaven’s own redress: it takes the place of happiness.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Try to be forgotten. Go live in the country. Stay in mourning for two years, then remarry, but choose somebody decent.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
If you but knew the flames that burn in me which I attempt to beat down with my reason.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
It is better to have dreamed a thousand dreams that never were than never to have dreamed at all.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Please, never despise the translator. He’s the mailman of human civilization.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Then came a moment of renaissance, I looked up – you again are there, A fleeting vision, the quintessence Of all that`s beautiful and rare.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
As long as there is one heart on Earth where I still live, my memory will not die.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Cabbage soup and barley. They’re Russia’s national food. Both excellent in their way, but a shade monotonous.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Love passed, the Muse appeared, the weather of mind got clarity new-found; now free, I once more weave together emotion, thought, and magic sound.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Play interests me very much,” said Hermann: “but I am not in the position to sacrifice the necessary in the hope of winning the superfluous.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Thus people–so it seems to me– Become good friends from sheer ennui.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
I’ve lived to bury my desires, And see my dreams corrode with rust; Now all that’s left are fruitless fires That burn my empty heart to dust.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN