Moscow, how many strains are fusing in that one sound, for Russian hearts! What store of riches it imparts!
ALEXANDER PUSHKINLove passed, the Muse appeared, the weather of mind got clarity new-found; now free, I once more weave together emotion, thought, and magic sound.
More Alexander Pushkin Quotes
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Write for pleasure and publish for money.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Ballet is a dance executed by the human soul.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
A man who’s active and incisive can yet keep nail-care much in mind: why fight what’s known to be decisive? Custom is despot of mankind.
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 -
I was not born to amuse the Tsars.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Two fixed ideas can no more exist together in the moral world than two bodies can occupy one and the same place in the physical world.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Habit is Heaven’s own redress: it takes the place of happiness.
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 -
Mistress-like, its brilliance vain, highly capricious and inane.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Unrequited love is not an affront to man but raises him.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Tis time, my friend, ’tis time! For rest the heart is aching; Days follow days in flight, and every day is taking, Fragments of being, while together you and I, Make plans to live. Look, all is dust, and we shall die.
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 -
It is better to have dreamed a thousand dreams that never were than never to have dreamed at all.
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 -
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