Fearing no insult, asking for no crown, receive with indifference both flattery and slander, and do not argue with a fool.
ALEXANDER PUSHKINMoscow, how many strains are fusing in that one sound, for Russian hearts! What store of riches it imparts!
More Alexander Pushkin Quotes
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Moral maxims are surprisingly useful on occasions when we can invent little else to justify our actions.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Inspiration is needed in geometry, just as much as in poetry.
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 -
Thank you, darling, for learning to play chess. It is an absolute necessity for any well organized family. (in a letter to his wife)
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 -
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 -
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 -
Mistress-like, its brilliance vain, highly capricious and inane.
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 -
Try to be forgotten. Go live in the country. Stay in mourning for two years, then remarry, but choose somebody decent.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Cabbage soup and barley. They’re Russia’s national food. Both excellent in their way, but a shade monotonous.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
I want to understand you, I study your obscure language.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
If you but knew the flames that burn in me which I attempt to beat down with my reason.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
Sad that our finest aspiration, Our freshest dreams and meditations, In swift succession should decay, Like Autumn leaves that rot away.
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN -
My dreams, my dreams! What has become of their sweetness? What indeed has become of my youth?
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN