Marina Tsvetaeva: wise quotes about love. Marina Tsvetaeva: the most piercing quotes about life and love Tsvetaeva's quotes about love for a man

In her statements she was no less poetic than in her poems.

Marina Ivanovna became one of the brightest, most original and daring poets of the Silver Age. She created her poems not with her mind, but with her soul. Writing was for her not so much a profession as a necessary means of self-expression. Over the course of her difficult life, Marina Tsvetaeva accumulated so many desperate feelings and burning emotions that the only way to express it was to clothe the sore in poetic and prose lines.

The first collection of her poems "Evening Album" was released when Tsvetaeva was only 18. She released it with her own money. The first step in the literary field - and immediately a challenge to society and established traditions. In those days, it was accepted that serious poets first published individual poems in magazines, and only then, having gained fame, published their own books. But Marina Ivanovna never followed everyone, did not obey orders that she did not understand. She obeyed only what resonated in her heart. Perhaps that is why there are so many sharp turns and tragic moments in her life. When you go your own way in spite of everything, you always take risks.

But she was not afraid to put everything on the line. Her loud voice of a poet sounded even when a revolution began in the country, when poverty forced her to give her daughters to an orphanage, and even when she herself was forced to leave her homeland following her husband Sergei Efron. Many misfortunes fell upon her, but each time she overcame them with an effort of will. Painfully touching the strings of the soul, they turned into poignant poetry or remained on the pages of a personal diary. The eldest daughter, Ariadna, Tsvetaeva managed to take away from the shelter, but the youngest, Irina, died within its walls. In exile, the poetess had a son, George, and Marina Ivanovna herself developed friendly relations with literary circles: she published her poems, edited magazines, and communicated with many famous Russian poets who also fled the country.

Marina Tsvetaeva with her daughter Ariadna

However, in the second half of the 1930s, new tragic events happened in her life. The husband was involved in a political assassination and fled back to the USSR. And in relations with her daughter, Tsvetaeva had a serious discord - Ariadne left her mother's house, and soon, like her father, returned to her homeland. For Marina Ivanovna, this was a strong blow. She was responsible for her little son, a war was brewing in Europe, and there were no people left nearby who could help and support.

Tsvetaeva comes to the USSR, but this does not bring relief. On the contrary, the clouds gather even more over her head. Almost immediately after their return, the husband and daughter were arrested, and the Second World War, which had already engulfed the whole of Europe, approached the borders of the Soviet Union. She goes with her son to Yelabuga. Boris Pasternak came to help prepare for the move and pack things. He brought a rope to tie up the suitcase. It turned out to be very strong, and Pasternak even joked: "The rope will withstand everything, even hang yourself." He did not even suspect that his words would turn out to be prophetic - later he was told that it was on this ill-fated rope that Tsvetaeva hanged herself in Yelabuga. Even the strongest people have a moment when the last drop overflows the cup of sorrows that they are able to endure.

Tsvetaeva did not live for the future, she always spent herself without a trace. Love sometimes fell on her like snow on her head. Even the bonds of marriage could not stop the sudden outbreak of feelings. She threw herself into the pool, took risks, was happy and unbearably unhappy.

Others said: "Marina, no one does that!", And she always answered: "And I - Who!".

We have selected the most vivid quotes from the poetess from her personal diaries, autobiographical works, letters and memoirs.

“I can’t - even kill - for a person to think that I need something from him. I need everyone, because I am insatiable. But others, more often than not, are not even hungry, hence the ever-intense attention: do I need it?

“Women love not men, but Love, men love not Love, but women. Women never change. Men are always

“For the complete coherence of souls, the coherence of breath is needed, for what is breath, if not the rhythm of the soul? So, in order for people to understand each other, it is necessary that they walk or lie side by side.

“What can you know about me if you didn’t sleep with me and didn’t drink ?!”

“Beloved” is theatrical, “Lover” is frank, “Friend” is vague. Unloved country!

“Every time I find out that a person loves me, I’m surprised, doesn’t love me, I’m surprised, but most of all I’m surprised when a person is indifferent to me”

“The first love glance is the shortest distance between two points, that divine straight line that the second does not have”

“The first victory of a woman over a man is the story of a man about his love for another. And her final victory is the story of this other about her love for him, about his love for her. The secret has become clear, your love is mine. And while this is not there, you can’t sleep peacefully.”

"Craziness and Good Education: Kissing on You"

“To love is to see a person as God intended him and his parents did not realize him. Not to love - to see a person the way his parents made him. Fall out of love - see instead of him: a table, a chair "

“Listen and remember: anyone who laughs at the misfortune of another is a fool or a scoundrel; most often - both of them ... When a person gets into trouble - this is not funny ... When a person is poured with slop - this is not funny ... When a person is tripped - this is not funny ... When a person is hit in the face - this is vile. Such laughter is a sin ... "

“Thank you to those who loved me, for they gave me the charm to love others, and thanks to those who did not love me, for they gave me the charm to love myself”

“For a long, long time - since my childhood, since I can remember myself - it seemed to me that I want to be loved. Now I know and tell everyone: I don't need love, I need understanding. For me, this is love. And what you call love (sacrifice, fidelity, jealousy), take care for others, for another - I don’t need this ”

“Humanly we can sometimes love ten, lovingly - many - two. Inhuman - always one ... "

“Feeling does not need experience, it knows in advance that it is doomed. Feeling has nothing to do on the periphery of the visible, it is in the center, it itself is the center. The feeling has nothing to look for on the roads, it knows what will come and bring it to itself ”

“I don't love you anymore. Nothing happened, life happened. I don't think about you either in the morning, waking up, or at night, falling asleep, neither on the street, nor to the music - never. If you fell in love with another woman, I would smile - with arrogant tenderness - and think - with curiosity - about you and about her. I am out of the game."

“Oh, my God, but they say that there is no soul! What hurts me now? - Not a tooth, not a head, not a hand, not a chest - no, chest, in the chest, where you breathe - I breathe deeply: it doesn’t hurt, but it hurts all the time, it aches all the time, unbearably!

“When you love a person, you always want him to leave in order to dream about him”

“People are jealous of only one thing: loneliness. They do not forgive only one thing: loneliness. Revenge for only one thing: loneliness. To that - that - for the fact that you dare to be alone "

“To live is to unsuccessfully cut and patch incessantly, and nothing holds (nothing holds me, there is nothing to hold on to, forgive me this sad, harsh play on words). When I try to live, I feel like a poor little seamstress who can never make a beautiful thing, who only spoils and hurts herself, and who, having thrown away everything: scissors, cloth, thread, begins to sing. At the window behind which it rains endlessly

“I am silent, I don’t even look at you and I feel that for the first time I’m jealous. It is a mixture of pride, offended pride, bitterness, imaginary indifference and the deepest indignation.

“The whole point is that we love, that our heart beats - even if it breaks into smithereens! I have always been shattered, and all my poems are those very silver heart shards.

“I would never, you know, paint lips. Ugly? No, it's charming. It’s just that every fool you meet on the street might think, I’m for him. ”

“If we consider you a close person, you made me suffer very much, but if you are an outsider, you brought me only good. I never felt you either like this or otherwise, I fought in myself for everyone, that is, against everyone.

“And often, sitting for the first time with a person, in the middle of an indifferent conversation, a crazy thought: “What if I kiss him now ?!” - Erotic insanity? - No. The same should be what the player has before the bet - Will I bet or not? Will I post or not? - With the difference that real players bet "

“I want to sleep with you - fall asleep and sleep. A wonderful folk word, how deep, how true, how unambiguous, how exactly what it says. Just sleep. And nothing else. No, more: bury your head in your left shoulder, and your hand in your right - and nothing more. Not yet: even in the deepest sleep to know that it is you. And one more thing: listen to the sound of your heart. And kiss him"

“There are so many things in life that cannot be put into words.
There are too few words on Earth…”

Marina Tsvetaeva - quotes

(born: October 8, 1892, Moscow, Russian Empire - died: August 31, 1941, Yelabuga, Tatar ASSR, RSFSR, USSR)

Russian poetess of the Silver Age, prose writer, translator.

I always want to talk to you.

Women talk about love and are silent about lovers, men - vice versa.

He was like a daisy.
He loves, he doesn't love.

What can you know about me
Since you didn’t sleep with me and didn’t drink?

Here I am not needed, there - impossible.

"I will love you all summer" - it sounds much more convincing than "all my life" and - most importantly - much longer!

Humanly, we can sometimes love ten, lovingly - many - two. Inhuman - always one ...

To love means to see a person as God intended him and his parents did not realize him.

You need to meet for love, for the rest there are books.

Wings - freedom, only when open in flight, behind their backs they are heaviness.

To love means to see a person as God intended him and his parents did not realize him.

If something hurts - be silent, otherwise they will hit exactly there.

Distance: versts, miles... We were placed, seated, so that we could behave quietly at two different ends of the earth.

I feel bad with people because they prevent me from listening to my soul or just silence.

People with this fatal gift of unfortunate - the only - all taken on - love - have a genius for inappropriate objects!

My head is empty,
Because the heart is too full!

Loud laughter does not hide the wild pain.

Our best words are intonations.

If you now entered and said: “I am leaving for a long time, forever,” or: “It seems to me that I don’t love you anymore,” I would not seem to feel anything new: every time you leave, every hour when you are gone - you are gone forever and you do not love me.

Know one thing: that tomorrow you will be old,
The rest, baby, forget it.

There is no second you on earth.

... And if the heart, torn,
Removes stitches without medication
Know that from the heart - there is a head,
And there is an ax - from the head ...

I love you all my life and every hour.
But I don't need your lips and eyes.
It all started - and ended - without you.

When I don’t love, it’s not me ... I’ve been so long - it’s not me ...

Love is not in moderation - cuts like an ax!

All women lead into the mists.

If I love a person, I want him to feel better from me - at least a sewn on button. From the sewn on button to my whole soul.

No passion will shout justice in me. To hurt another, no, a thousand times, it is better to endure it yourself. I'm not a winner. I myself am under judgment, my judgment is stricter than yours, I do not love myself, I do not spare.

I want such a modest, deadly simple thing: that when I enter, a person would be happy.

If you are shouting “Fool!” behind your back, then this is not a reason to look back.

I knew only one thing in love: to suffer wildly and sing!

Do not be ashamed, the country of Russia!
Angels are always barefoot..

"Beloved! - theatrical, "lover" - frankly, "friend" - indefinitely. Unloved country!

The only thing that people do not forgive is that you, in the end, managed without them.

No person, even the most detached, is free from the joy of being something (everything!) in someone's life, especially when it is unwitting.

My soul is losing its head.

Goddesses married gods, gave birth to heroes, and loved shepherds.

When love dies, it cannot be resurrected. There remains emptiness, boredom and indifference. It is impossible to kill love - it dies itself, leaving bare ashes and a terrible inexpressible resentment, resentment against the one who caused this love in us, but did not give, could not save ...

I HURRY, you know? I am a skinned man, and you are all in armor. All of you: art, community, friendship, entertainment, family, duty - I have, in depth, NOTHING.

It is impossible for that which was unsteady sadness, To say: “Be passion! Grieve madness, rejoice!” Your love was such a mistake - But without love we perish. Wizard!

I bless you on all four sides.

I'm waiting for the first one
Will understand me as it should -
And shoot point-blank.

My soul is monstrously jealous: it would not bear me as a beauty.
Talking about appearance in my cases is unreasonable: the matter is so obvious, and so much - not in it!
- "How do you like her appearance?" - Does she want to be liked? Yes, I just do not give the right to it - to such an assessment!
I am me: and my hair is me, and my man's hand with square fingers is me, and my hooked nose is me. And, more precisely: neither the hair is not me, nor the hand, nor the nose: I am me: the invisible.

Have I stopped loving you? No. You have not changed and I have not changed. One thing has changed: my painful focus on you. You have not ceased to exist for me, I have ceased to exist in you. My hour with you is over, my eternity remains with you.

When I stop waiting for you
Love, hope and believe
Then I will close tightly windows, doors
And I'm just going to die...

I want you to love all of me, all that I am, all that I am! This is the only way to be loved or not to be loved.

Be the one to him, whom I did not dare to be:
Do not ruin his dreams with fear!
Be the one to him who I could not be:
Love without measure and love to the end!

I recognize love by the pain of the whole body along.

I need to love absolutely unusually for me to believe.

Ah, far from the sky!
Lips - close in the darkness ...
- God, do not judge! - You were not
woman on earth!

Oh, my God, but they say that there is no soul! What hurts me now? - Not a tooth, not a head, not a hand, not a chest - no, chest, in the chest, where you breathe - I breathe deeply: it doesn’t hurt, but it hurts all the time, it aches all the time, unbearably!

The sin is not in the darkness, but in the unwillingness of the light.

I did not know where you were, but I was where you were, and since I did not know where you were, I did not know where I was - but I knew that I was with you.

"To endure - fall in love." I love this phrase, just the opposite.

Betrayal already points to love. You can't betray a friend.

Each book is a steal from its own life. The more you read, the less you know how and want to live on your own.

You, who loved me with the falsehood of truth and the truth of lies,
You, who loved me nowhere further, abroad,
You, who loved me longer than time, wave your right hand,
You don't love me anymore - the truth in five words!

Wanting is the business of bodies,
And we are souls for each other ...

No man has yet judged the sun because it shines on another...

Tsvetaeva: - A man never wants the first one. If a man wants, a woman already wants.
Antokolsky: - And what will we do with tragic love? When a woman - really - doesn't want to?
Tsvetaeva: - So, it wasn’t she who wanted it, but some one nearby. Wrong door.

There are strange words for the simplest things... But until you think of simplicity...

You don't make me happier, you make me smarter.

Every time I find out that a person loves me - I am surprised, does not love - I am surprised, but most of all I am surprised when a person is indifferent to me.

Love is a strange thing: it feeds on hunger and dies of food.

The whole point is that we love, that our heart beats - even if it breaks into smithereens! I have always been shattered, and all my poems are those very silver heart smithereens.

At night all the rooms are black
Every voice is dark at night
all the beauties of the earth
Equally-innocently-unfaithful.

You have not stopped loving me (how to cut off). You just stopped loving me every minute of your life, and I did the same, obeyed you, as always.

I am silent, I do not even look at you and feel that for the first time I am jealous. It is a mixture of pride, offended pride, bitterness, imaginary indifference and the deepest indignation.

Men are not accustomed to pain - like animals. When they hurt, they immediately have such eyes that you can do anything, if only they would stop.

I love you. - Like a thundercloud
Above you - sin -
Because you are caustic and burning
And best of all...

Lie. I do not despise myself when I lie, but you, who makes me lie.

Someone's eyes are too tender
in the gentle air barely warmed ...
I already get sick in the summer
barely recovered from the winter.

What can we say about God? Nothing. What can we say to God? All.

The pain is called you.

I know my place in life, and it is not the last one, because I never line up.

You are the closest to me now, you just hurt me the most.

All my nevers fall away like rotten branches.

Do not be too angry with your parents - remember that they were you, and you will be them.

I go to bed like a coffin. And every morning - indeed - a rise from the dead.

Thanks to those who loved me, for they gave me the charm of loving others, and thanks to those who did not love me, for they gave me the charm of loving myself.

If there is suicide in this life, it is not where it is seen, and it lasted not a trigger pull, but twelve years of life.

The soul is a sail. Wind is life.

In dialogue with life, it is not her question that matters, but our answer.

It is sad to admit, but we are good only with those in whose eyes we can still gain or lose something.

Success is to be on time!

That's all. - How mean! -
Being unhappy is stupid.
So let's make a point.

Sometimes silence in a room is like thunder.

Which one, well, which one is March?!
They smashed us - like a deck of cards!

I'm so sorry that all these are just words - love - I can't do that, I would like a real fire on which they would burn me.

The soul - to the music - wanders. Wandering - changing. My whole life is to music.

I live like others dance: to rapture - to dizziness - to nausea!

So, in ... ... Moscow buried alive,
I watch with a thin smile,
Like me - even you, who courted for three years! -
Learned to walk around.

I need to be loved ... Needed - like bread.

And how not to die a poet,
When the poem is successful!

Listen and remember: anyone who laughs at the misfortune of another is a fool or a scoundrel; more often than not, it's both. When a person gets into trouble - it's not funny; when a person is poured with mud - it's not funny; when a person is tripped - it's not funny; when a person is hit in the face - it's mean. Such laughter is a sin.

And I'll say tired
- Do not rush to listen! -
That your soul rose to me
Beyond the soul.

I don't need someone who doesn't need me.
Superfluous to me is the one to whom I have nothing to give.

The soul grows from everything, most of all from losses.

In love, we are deprived of the main thing: the opportunity to tell (show) to another how we suffer from it.

Love: in winter from cold, in summer from heat, in spring from the first leaves, in autumn from the last: always from everything.

I don't want love or honors. - Intoxicated. - Do not fall! I don’t even want an apple - Seductive - from the tray .... Something is dragging behind me with a chain, Soon the thunder will begin to rumble. How I want to, How I want to - Quietly die!

I know that you need me, otherwise I wouldn't need you.

He charmingly tells me how he doesn't love me. And I - attentively - approvingly - I listen.

I need from a person - it is necessary: either charm or a big, fully armed, sleepless mind.<...>Outside of this, I am empty with a person. - Better than one.

Friend! Indifference is a bad school
She hardens the heart.

Whether to dream together, whether to sleep together, but always cry alone.

After all, I'm not for life. I have everything - fire! I can lead ten relationships (good "relationships"!), all at once, and from the deepest depths, assure everyone that he is the only one. And I can't stand the slightest turn of my head away from me.

Time! I'm not in time.

There are bodies that are surprisingly similar to the soul.

There will not even be a void, since I do not occupy any place in your life. As for the "spiritual emptiness", the more the soul is empty, the better it is filled. Only physical emptiness counts. The emptiness of this chair. In your life there will be no chair empty by me ...

Love not me, but my world.

I forbid you to do what you don't want!

Feel free to give up your seat on the tram to the elder.
Be shy - don't give up.

I am not a love heroine, I will never go into a lover, always into love.

If I look at you, it does not mean that I see you!

When I try to live, I feel like a poor little seamstress who can never make a beautiful thing, who only spoils and hurts herself, and who, having thrown away everything: scissors, cloth, thread, begins to sing. At the window behind which it rains endlessly.

Heart - love potions
The potion is the best.
Woman from the cradle
Someone's mortal sin.

The immensity of my words is only a faint shadow of the immensity of my feelings.

It is better to lose a person with all of yourself than to keep him with some kind of hundredth.
(It is better to lose a person with all his essence than with one of his edges.)

I don't listen to music, I listen to my soul.

I am a shadow from someone's shadow...

The first victory of a woman over a man is the story of a man about his love for another. And her final victory is the story of this other about her love for him, about his love for her. The secret has become clear, your love is mine. And while this is not, you can not sleep peacefully.

Previously, everything that I loved was called - I, now - you. But it's still the same.

I want you to love me for who I am. This is the only means (to be loved - or unloved).

Nobody wants - nobody can understand one thing: that I'm all alone.
Acquaintances and friends - all of Moscow, but not a single one who is for me - no, without me! - will die.
Nobody needs me, everyone is pleasant.

I have always preferred to force sleep over sleep deprivation, force to eat rather than deprive of appetite, force to think rather than deprive of reason. I have always preferred to give - deliver, give - receive, give - have.

What you call love, I call you a good mood. If you feel bad (discord at home, business, heat) - I no longer exist.

The world has a limited number of souls and an unlimited number of bodies.

… at night the city is an inverted sky.

If we consider you a close person, you made me suffer very much, but if you are an outsider, you brought me only good. I never felt you either like this or different, I fought in myself for everyone, that is, against everyone.

How much better I see a person when not with him!

You know what I want, always want? Darkening, brightening, transformation. The extreme cape of someone else's soul and one's own. Words that you will never hear, you will not say. Never-before. Monstrous. MIRACLE.

Never say that everyone does this: everyone always does it badly - since they are so readily referred to. Everyone has a middle name: nobody, and no face at all: thorn. If you are told: no one does this (does not dress, does not think, etc.), answer: - And I - who.

A woman, if she is a man, needs a man as a luxury - very, very sometimes. Books, home, caring for children, the joys of children, lonely walks, hours of bitterness, hours of delight - what is a man to do?
A woman, outside of a man, has two whole seas: life and her own soul.

At some second of the way, the target begins to fly at us. The only thought: do not evade.

Not only do I not expect anything in return, I don’t even know if I exist for him, if what is given comes through, and if it comes, is it connected with me?

Lucky for you that you didn't meet me. You would be exhausted with me, and yet you would not stop loving, because that is why you love me! We want eternal fidelity not from Penelope, but from Carmen - only the faithful Don Juan is worth the price! I know this temptation too. This is a cruel thing: to love for running - and to demand (from Running!) peace. But you have something that I also have: a look up: into the stars: where both the abandoned Ariadne and the abandoned one - which of the heroines threw? Or only the abandoned go to heaven?

I will win you back from all lands, from all skies ...

Never be afraid of the funny, and if you see a person in a stupid position: 1) try to get him out of him, if it’s impossible, jump into him like into water, the stupid situation is divided in half: half for each - or, for a thin end - don't see it.

The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is that which has broken.

I always kiss - the first, as simply as I shake hands, only - more unstoppable. I just can't wait! Then, every time: “Well, who pulled you? You are the one to blame!" I know that no one likes it, that they all love to bow, beg, look for a chance, seek, hunt ... And most importantly - I can not stand it when the other kisses - the first. So at least I know what I want.

Family... Yes, boring, yes, poor, yes, the heart does not beat... Wouldn't it be better: a friend, a lover? But, having quarreled with my brother, I still have the right to say: “You must help me, because you are my brother ... (son, father ...)” But you won’t say this to your lover - you’ll cut off your tongue.

There are feelings so serious, real, great that they are not afraid of shame or rumors. They know that they are only a shadow of future certainties.

Looking for a sixth sense is usually people who are unaware of the existence of their own five.

I don't want to have a point of view. I want to have vision.

You are the wing that beat on this chest,
The young culprit of inspiration -
I command you: - be!
I - will not go out of obedience.

There are people of a certain era and there are eras that are embodied in people.

Thought it was a man!
And forced to die.
Died now. Forever.
- Cry for the dead angel!

I bless the one who invented the globe - for the fact that I can immediately embrace the entire globe with these two hands - with all my loved ones!

I'm only cocky with those I depend on.

The ultimate sacrifice is to hide that it is a sacrifice.

Dying, I will not say: it was.
And I'm not sorry, and I'm not looking for the guilty.
There are more important things in the world
Passionate storms and labors of love.

Look-to-look - bold and bright,
Heart - five years old ...
Happy who didn't meet you
On his way.

I can say about my soul, like one woman about her girl: "She is not boring with me." I can handle separation very well. While a person is nearby, I obediently, attentively and enthusiastically absorb him, when he is not there - myself.

Lovely! Or maybe I take care of myself so much because none of you took care of me enough?

… And I have longing.<...>From her I run to people, to books, even to drink, because of her I make new acquaintances. But when longing “does not change from a change of places” (it reminds me of algebra “from a change in the places of factors, the product does not change”) - it’s rubbish, because it turns out that longing depends on oneself, and not on the environment.

The first reason for not accepting a thing is unpreparedness for it.

Human conversation is one of the deepest and most subtle pleasures in life: you give the best - your soul, you take the same in return, and all this is easy, without the difficulty and exactingness of love.

People are jealous of only one thing: loneliness. They do not forgive only one thing: loneliness. Revenge for only one thing: loneliness. To that - that - for the fact that you dare to be alone.

The greatest (my) grief in love is not being able to give as much as I want.

I'm insatiable at heart.

Don't trust cold weather. There is such a draft between you and me.

I have a special gift to go with myself (thoughts, poems, even love) just not-to-those.

Something hurts: not a tooth, not a head, not a stomach, not - not - not - ... but it hurts. This is the soul.

If the soul was born winged
What are her mansions - and what are her huts!

Why didn't I come to you? Because I love you more than anything in the world. Quite simply. And because you don't know me. From suffering pride, trembling before chance (or fate, as you wish). Or maybe out of fear that you will have to meet your cold gaze on the threshold of your room.

Someone's curls are tangled in a loop ..

My favorite type of communication is otherworldly: dream: to see in a dream. And the second is correspondence. A letter is like a kind of otherworldly communication, less perfect than a dream, but the laws are the same. Neither one nor the other is ordered: we dream and write not when we want, but when we want: a letter - to be written, a dream - to be seen.

Every person is now a well into which one cannot spit. - And how you want!

I would have to drink you from a quarter, but I drink drops that make me cough.

Lover: the one who loves, the one through whom love is manifested, the wire of the element of Love. Maybe in one bed, or maybe a thousand miles away. Love is not like a “bond”, but like an element.

Oaths are winged.

Conscience must unlearn to ask: why?

I don't care at all -
Where all alone
Be…

There are areas where a joke is inappropriate, and things that need to be spoken about with respect or completely silent due to the absence of this feeling at all.

What is my sin? That in the church I don’t learn tears,
Laughing in reality and in a dream?
Believe me: I am cured of pain with laughter,
But laughter does not make me happy!

It's time to shoot amber
It's time to change the dictionary
It's time to put out the lantern
Above the door…

From too much and pure warmth of the heart, from a modest desire not to despise oneself for loving one whom one cannot but despise, from this - and also from another - one inevitably comes to arrogance, - then to loneliness.

If this winter passes, I will indeed be as strong as death - or just - dead.

How did it happen? Oh friend, how does this happen?! I rushed, another answered, I heard big words, which are not simpler, and which I, perhaps, hear for the first time in my life. "Connection?" Don't know. I am bound by the wind in the branches. From the hand - to the lips - and where is the limit? And is there a limit? Earth roads are short. What will come of it - I do not know. I know it's a big pain. I'm going to suffer.

My generation is knee-deep for me.

No sleep for anyone - yes!
Don't sleep over anyone - yeah!
Not sleeping because of someone - well, no!

There is next to our vile life - another life: solemn, indestructible, immutable: the life of the Church. The same words, the same movements - everything, as centuries ago. Out of time, that is, out of treason.
We remember too little about it.

Washes off the best blush
Love. Taste it
Like tears are salty...

All women are divided into those who go for maintenance and those who take maintenance. I belong to the latter.

A woman is the only passion, because the source and mouth of all passions.

No one is like me and I am no one, therefore, it is pointless to advise me this or that.

Lure the moon from the sky
In the palm of your hand - if it's sweet!
Well, he left - as if he had not been,
And I - like I wasn't.

You do not want to know that you love such and such? Then say about him: “I adore him!” - However - some - know what it means.

Two sources of a woman's genius: 1) her love for someone (mutual or not - it doesn't matter). 2) someone else's dislike.

To love ... Spread out in the world - a swallow!

Our heart yearns for a feast,
and does not argue and everything allows
Why is nothing in this world
does not satisfy?

Everything in the world affects me more than my personal life.

I wake up terrified:
- “Alya! God! It's already 10 o'clock!"
Alya - out of bed - phlegmatically:
“Thank God it’s not twelve!”

I do not belong to the women who run, nor to the women who are chased.
- Rather, to the first. - Only my running is different - in verse.

Not a mother, but a stepmother - Love:
Don't expect judgment or mercy.

The nobility of the heart - body. Unrelenting concern. Always the first to sound the alarm. I could say: it's not love that makes my heart beat, it's the heartbeat that makes love.

oblivion cute art
The soul has already mastered.
Some great feeling
Today melted in the soul.

And now - now - trembling with pity and heat,
One thing: to howl like a wolf, one thing: to fall at your feet,
Look down - understand - that voluptuous punishment -
Cruel love and hard labor passion.

I don't ask, because I consider it monstrous to refuse me, to myself. I have one answer to refusal: silent - hail - tears.

I catch the movement of the lips.
And I know - will not say the first.
- Do not love? - No, I love it.
Do not love? - But tormented.

The whole sea needs the whole sky,
A whole heart needs the whole of God.

Desire deep: deep into the night, deep into love. Love: a gap in time.

When men leave me alone, I am deeply innocent.

…Oh, bodies and waves
Excitement!
- Write! -
Kiss you
To the bottom of my soul...

There is a lot of bitterness in this. Holding my forehead, I think: I will never know his life, his whole life, I will not recognize his favorite toy at the age of three, his favorite book at thirteen, I will not know the name of his dog. And if I recognize - a toy - a book - a dog, I don’t recognize another, I don’t recognize everything, I don’t recognize anything. Because I can't.

Idleness; the most gaping void, the most devastating cross. That's why I - maybe - do not like the countryside and happy love.

Love in us is like a treasure, we don’t know anything about it, it’s all about the case.

My love for him, at first biased, turned into a natural one: I rank him among those things that I loved more than people in my life: the sun, a tree, a monument. And who never interfered with me - because they did not answer.

After music, there is the same desolation as after love, but less irritating, because there is only one in you.

I need from you: my freedom to you. My trust. - And also to know that you are not confused by this.

The soul is the five senses. The virtuosity of one of them is a talent, the virtuosity of all five is a genius.

The first love glance is the shortest distance between two points, that divine straight line, which is not the second.

… I don’t know if you are loved (fed with love) in life - most likely: yes. But I know - (and let you hear it for the thousandth time!) - that no one (not one!) has ever seen you like that ... And for every thousandth there is its thousand and first time. My so is not a measure of weight, quantity or duration, it is the magnitude of quality: essence. I love you neither so much, nor so much, nor before ... - I love you that way. (I love you not so much, I love you like.) Oh, how many women have loved and will love you more. Everyone will love you more. No one will love you like this...

I love him, as they love only those who have never been seen (long gone or those who are still ahead: following us), never seen or never been.

Leaving the station, I simply parted: immediately and soberly - as in life.

I'm talking all sorts of nonsense. You laugh, I laugh, we laugh. Nothing love: the night belongs to us, not we to it. And as I become happy - happy, because I'm not in love, because I can say that it is not necessary to kiss, just filled with unclouded gratitude - I kiss you.

Yesenin had a gift for singing, but there was no personality. His tragedy is the tragedy of emptiness. By the age of 30, he internally ended. He had only youth.

I want to see you - now it will be easy - burned out and got sick. You can come to me with confidence.
I do not admit the thought that everyone around me loved me more than you. Of all you - to me - invariably - the most dear.
That women's pride in front of human truth.

There are meetings, there are feelings when everything is given at once and there is no need to continue. Continue, because it is - to check.

Everything untold is continuous. So, unrepentant murder, for example, lasts. The same about love.

Near you, I, poor, feel stunned and as if frozen through (bewitched).

For the complete coherence of souls, the coherence of breath is needed, for what is breath, if not the rhythm of the soul?
So, in order for people to understand each other, it is necessary that they walk or lie side by side.

I do not exaggerate you in my life - you are light even on my partial, merciful, unrighteous scales. I don't even know if you are in my life? In the vastness of my soul - no. But in that near-soul, in something between: heaven and earth, soul and body, in twilight, in everything pre-drowsy, after-dreaming, in everything where “I am not me and the horse is not mine” - there You not only are, but only You are...

The person is so important to me - the soul - the secret of this soul, that I will let myself be trampled underfoot, just to understand - to cope!

Take me to sleep with you, in the sleepiest sleep, I will lie very still: only my heart (which I have is very loud!). Listen, I definitely want to sleep with you all night - as you wish! - otherwise it will burn me (longing for you, sleeping) until my death.

Two possibilities of a person's biography: according to the dreams that he sees himself, and according to the dreams that others see about him.

For me, loneliness - at times - is the only way to know the other, a direct necessity.

Passion is the last opportunity for a person to speak out, as the sky is the only opportunity to be a storm.
Man is a storm, passion is the sky that dissolves it.

Rainer, I want to see you, for my own sake, that new one that can only arise with you, in you.<...>Just sleep. And nothing else. No, more: bury your head in your left shoulder, and your hand on your right - and nothing more. No, more: even in the deepest sleep to know that it is you. And one more thing: listen to the sound of your heart. And kiss him.

I read your letter on the ocean, the ocean read with me. Doesn't this reader bother you? For no human eye will ever read a single line of yours to me.

All people took care of my poems, no one took care of my soul.

The girl with the lightest foot
Still, the heart can not go ...

I wrote your name and can't write any more.

All the torture is not uprooted!
And let it be known - there:
Doctors recognize us in the morgue
For too big hearts.

Lover and Witch. One is worth the other.

Your face,
Your warm,
Your shoulder
Where did it go?

I don't need holes
Ear, nor prophetic eyes.
To your crazy world
There is only one answer - refusal.

Release from daily bonds,
Friends, understand that I am dreaming of you.

Tell me what are you thinking about?
In the rain - under one raincoat,
In the night - under one cloak, then
In the coffin - under one cloak.

Morning turns our temple into a house of cards, laughing.
O agonizing shame for the evening superfluous word!
Oh longing in the morning!

Who is made of stone, who is made of clay, -
And I'm silver and sparkle!
I care - treason, my name is Marina,
I am the mortal foam of the sea.

Listen carefully: I can’t now have other hands, I CAN’T, I can without YOURS, I can’t: NOT yours!

Every love is a deal. Skin for money. Skin for skin. Skin for the soul. When you get neither one, nor the other, nor the third, even such a dumb merchant like me stops the loan.

Bitterness will soon turn into a smile
And sadness will become tired.
It's a pity not a word, believe me, and not a look, -
Only the secrets of the lost pity!

The body is the seat of the soul. Therefore - and only therefore - do not throw them in vain!

This is Romanticism. It has nothing to do with love. You can love a person's thought - and not endure the shape of his nails, respond to his touch - and not respond to his innermost feelings. These are different areas. The soul loves the soul, the lips love the lips, if you mix it up and, God forbid, try to combine it, you will be miserable.

Fear concepts that are clothed in words, rejoice in words that reveal concepts.

I don't want to pierce you with myself, I don't want to overcome anything, I don't want to want anything. If this is fate, and not chance, there will be neither your will nor mine, there will not be, there should not be, neither you nor me. Otherwise - all this has no value, no meaning. "Lovely" men number in the hundreds, "cute" women in the thousands.

Today I had a thought: if youth is spring, maturity is summer, old age is autumn and old age is winter, then what is childhood? It is spring, summer, autumn and winter in one day.

More modest - how loud!
Pain, familiar as the eyes - a palm,
How to lips -
Name of own child.

There are lyrical female backs.

Music: through the soul into the body. - Through the body to the soul: love.

In general, I have an atrophy of the present, not only do I not live, I never go to it.

For to understand another means to become this other at least for an hour.

When can we see each other? - In a dream.
- How windy! - Hi wife,
And that - green-eyed - lady.

I'll call the heart a second hand,
And the soul - with this starry dial!

Some ancestor of mine was a violinist,
Rider and thief at the same time.
Is it because my temper is a wanderer
And your hair smells like wind!

No one despises an honest woman as much as an honest woman.

There are two jealousies. One (offensive gesture) - from yourself, the other (a blow to the chest) - into yourself. How low is it to plunge a knife into yourself?

Life lies inimitably:
Beyond expectation, beyond lies...

Where is the merciful hand
Receiving without giving back?

Life is passionate, life has gone out of my relationship with you: urgency. My love for you (and it is and will be) is calm. Anxiety will come from you, from your pain - oh, between real people it's not so important: who hurts!

I can't stop thinking about mine, so I can't serve.

And often, sitting for the first time with a person, in the middle of an indifferent conversation, a crazy thought: “What if I kiss him now ?!” - Erotic insanity? - No. It should be the same as the player before the bet - Will I bet or not? Will I post or not? - With the difference that real players bet.

I need to learn (to me) to live in the love present of a person, as in his love past.

The most intoxicating thing for me is devotion in adversity. It overshadows everything.

They don't run from me - they run.
They don't run after me - they run to me.

... Christmas is coming soon. To tell the truth, I'm so driven by life that I don't feel anything. For me - over the years and years (1917-1927) - it was not my mind that became dull, but my soul. An amazing observation: it is the feelings that take time, not the thought. Thought is lightning, feeling is the ray of the farthest star. Feeling needs leisure, it does not live in fear.<...>Feeling is obviously more demanding than thought. Either everything or nothing. I can give nothing to mine: neither time, nor silence, nor solitude.

Since everyone around is whispering: kiss your hand! kiss your hand! - it is clear that I should not kiss your hand.

You can joke with a person, but you can't joke with his name.

I definitely feel the soul in the middle of my chest. She is oval like an egg, and when I sigh, she breathes.

Angels are not blue, but fiery. Wings are not lightness, but heaviness (strength).

I need everyone, because I am insatiable. But others, more often than not, are not even hungry, hence the ever-intense attention: do I need it?

Not a woman gives a man a child, but a man gives a woman. Hence the indignation of a woman when they want to take away her child (gift) - and eternal, endless - for the child - gratitude.

The world has gone missing. In nowhere -
Flooded shores...
- Drink, my swallow! At the bottom
Melted pearls…

I will not torture you about your ways,
Darling! - after all, everything came true.
I was barefoot, and you shod me
Downpours of hair -
And - tears.

I want everything: with the soul of a gypsy
Go to the songs for robbery,
For all to suffer to the sound of the organ
and an Amazon to rush into battle;
Fortune telling by the stars in the black tower
Lead the children forward, through the shadow...
To be a legend - yesterday,
To be madness - every day!

I have seen so many people, I have outlived so many destinies - there is no second you on earth, this is fatal for me.

The soul will never be loved as the flesh, at best, will be praised. Thousands of souls always love the flesh. Who at least once doomed himself to eternal torment in the name of one soul? Yes, even if someone wanted to, it is impossible: to go to eternal torment out of love for the soul already means to be an angel.

Courtesy - or unwillingness to upset? Deafness - or unwillingness to accept?

Forty-seven years old I will say that everything that I was destined to learn, I learned before the age of seven, and all the subsequent forty years I was aware.

Alive, not dead
Demon in me!
In the body as in the hold,
Like in a prison.

Fire: do not burn, wind: do not blow, heart: do not beat. That's what I do with myself.
- For what?!

All life is divided into three periods: the anticipation of love, the action of love and the memory of love.

When you love a person, you always want him to go away to dream about him.

In the first second, in the heat of the moment, the decision was: “Not a word! Lie, prolong, protect! Lie? But I love him! No, lie, because I love him too!” In the second second: “Chop off immediately! Communication, dirt - let him turn away and fall out of love! And, directly: “No, a clean wound is better than a dubious scar. “I love” is a lie and “I don’t love” (but is it really ?!) is a lie, the whole truth!

There was no goodbye at all. It was a disappearance.

Ask the wave of the sea:
Who exactly?
Forgetfulness! - only with male
Comparable…

Aleksey Aleksandrovich! You wonderfully received my kiss!

If everything that I give to the dead on paper, I would give to the living in life, I would be ugly (I persist!) And I myself would ask to be put in a lunatic asylum.

It was the first act of my female obedience. I always wanted to obey, the other just never wanted to dominate (little wanted, weakly wanted), someone else's weakness succumbed to my strength, when my strength wanted to succumb - someone else's.

But I will write to you - whether you like it or not.

The moment will come - I will not hide the tears ...
Neither here nor there - no need to meet anywhere,
And not for meetings, we wake up in paradise!

A young man who dreams of great love gradually learns to take advantage of the opportunity.

Fate: what God intended.
Life: what people have done (to us).

“A woman cannot do it alone.”
- Human can.

Boys need to be pampered - they may have to go to war.

Finally met
Necessary - me:
Someone has a death
The need is in me.

My first love scene was non-love: he didn’t love (I understood this), that’s why he didn’t sit down, she loved, that’s why she got up, they weren’t together for a minute, didn’t do anything together, did the exact opposite: he said, she was silent, he did not love, she loved, he left, she remained, so that if you raise the curtain - she is standing alone, or maybe sitting again, because she stood only because - he - stood, and then collapsed and it will stay that way forever. Tatyana sits on that bench forever.

I do not at all assume that I am well versed in modernity. Modernity is a thing established only by the future and reliable only in the past.

What am I doing in the world? - I listen to my soul.

To be contemporary is to create your time, not reflect it.

The best thing in the world, perhaps, is a huge roof from which the whole world is visible.

To love only women (a woman) or only men (a man), obviously excluding the usual reverse - what a horror! But only women (man) or only men (woman), obviously excluding the unusual native - what a bore!

All larks these days are crows.

You never loved me. If love is decomposed into all its constituent elements, everything is obvious; tenderness, curiosity, pity, delight, etc. If you put it all together, maybe love will come out.
- But it never worked out together.

What am I to do, singer and first-born,
In a world where the blackest is gray!
Where inspiration is stored, like in a thermos!
With this immensity
In the world of measures?

Spread in vain dawn
Red blotch!
... Young women sometimes
Flatter on such a canvas.

Each of us, at the bottom of our souls, lives a strange feeling of contempt for someone who loves us too much.
(Some kind of “and just something”? - that is, if you love me so much, me, you yourself are not God knows what!)

Casanova is given to live her life, we are to live it.

Fun - simple - it seems that I will never have and, in general, this is not my property.

What demon in me
You missed eternity!

People are attracted to me: some think that I still don’t know how to love, others that it’s great and that I will certainly love them, others like my short hair, the fourth that I’ll let it go for them, everyone imagines something, everything is something they demand - certainly something else - forgetting that it all started with me, and if I hadn't come close to them, nothing would have occurred to them, looking at my youth.
And I want lightness, freedom, understanding - not to hold anyone and no one to hold! My whole life is a romance with my own soul, with the city where I live, with a tree on the side of the road, with the air. And I am infinitely happy.

The detail of any description is almost always at the expense of its accuracy.

The poet sees an unsculpted statue, an unpainted picture, and hears unplayed music.

Books have given me more than people. The memory of a person always pales before the memory of a book.

You, my last peg
Deeply stuffed in the chest.

I can’t bear the tension of love, I have this monstrous, this purest transformation into my own ear pointed at another: is it okay with me? With me it already ceases to sound and mean, one thing - is it for him?

If someday I don't get crushed by a car or sunk by a steamboat, all premonitions are lies.

I keep saying: love, love.
But - to be honest - I only like to be admired. - Oh, how long no one loved me!

The clarity of my feelings makes people mistake them for reasoning.

Hands were given to me - to stretch both to each,
Do not hold on to a single one, lips give names,
Eyes - not to see, high eyebrows above them -
Gently marvel at love and - more tenderly - dislike.

Snowflakes are celestial salamanders.

Oh, how I'm torn to leave that world,
Where pendulums tear the soul,
Where rules my eternity
Breakdown of minutes.

I am you endlessly (along the plumbline, because otherwise you cannot accept it, not along time, but deep into non-time) - endlessly, you gave me so much: all earthly tenderness, all the possibility of tenderness in me, you are my human home on earth , make your chest (darling!) endure me - no! - in order for me to be spacious in it, EXPAND it - not for me: for chance, but for the sake of what breaks through me into you.

I see your swarthy face over a glass of coffee - in coffee and tobacco smoke - You were like velvet, I'm talking about voice - and like steel - I'm talking about words ...

One half of the window is gone.
One half of the soul showed up.
Let's open - and that half,
And that half of the window!

All our bad experience with love we forget in love. For chara is older than experience.

The language of the common people is like a pendulum between eating and shitting.

Children are rest, a moment of rest is short,
A quivering vow to God at the bed,
Children are tender riddles of the world,
And the answer lies in the riddles themselves!

Only those who value themselves highly can value others highly. It's an innate sense [of scale].

I laugh at the afterlife darkness!
I don't believe in death! I'm waiting for you from the station -
Home!

The body in youth is an outfit, in old age it is a coffin from which you are torn!

A cynic cannot be a poet.

The book must be performed by the reader as a sonata. Letters are notes. It is up to the reader to realize or distort.

There is no need to work on poetry, it is necessary that poetry work on you (in you!)

The whole secret is to tell the event of today as if it were a hundred years ago, and what happened a hundred years ago - as today.

I love everything that makes my heart beat high. This is everything.

But until I cross my fingers on your chest -
O curse! - you remain - you:
Your two wings, aimed at the ether, -
Because the world is your cradle, and the grave is the world!

God created man only up to the waist, - the Devil did his best on the rest.

Favorable conditions? They are not for the artist. Life itself is an unfavorable condition.

Do you believe in another world? I - yes. But ominous. Retribution! To a world where Intentions reign. To a world where judges will be judged. This will be the day of my justification, no, not enough: rejoicing! I will stand and rejoice. Because there they will be judged not by the dress, which everyone here has better than mine, and for which they hated me so much in my life, but by the essence that prevented me from dressing here.

Do not suspect me of poverty: I am rich in friends, I have strong ties with souls, but what was I to do when, of all the people in the world at this hour of the soul, I needed only you?!

Love does not add to spring, spring is a difficult test for love, a great rival to it.

Women love not men, but Love, men love not Love, but women. Women never change. Men - always.

I am convinced that I do not like concepts, but words. Call me the same thing by another name and the thing will suddenly shine.

In Immortality, what an hour - then a train!

Downpipe: Exact Destiny.

I don't love you anymore.
Nothing happened, life happened. I don't think about you either in the morning, waking up, or at night, falling asleep, neither on the street, nor to the music - never.

Creativity is a common cause, created by solitary people.

As such, I do not like life, for me it begins to mean, to acquire meaning and weight - only transformed, that is, in art. If they took me across the ocean - to paradise - and forbade me to write, I would refuse the ocean and paradise.

I like that you are not sick of me,
I like that I'm not sick of you,
That never a heavy globe of the earth
Won't float under our feet.

Love me how you like, but show it how it suits me. And it's convenient for me that I didn't know anything!

This is the highest bliss - to love like that, to love like that .. I would give my soul - to give my soul!

In my huge city - night.
From the sleepy house I go - away
And people think: wife, daughter, -
And I remember one thing: the night.

I bless the one who invented the globe - for the fact that I can immediately embrace the entire globe with these two hands - with all my loved ones!

Solar? Lunar? Vain battle! Every spark, heart, catch! In every prayer - love, and prayer In every love!

You were the first to stop loving me. If this had not happened, I would still love you, because I always love you to the very last opportunity!

I don't know women more talented than me. I can safely say that I could write like Pushkin. My take on fame? As a child - especially 11 years old - I had all the ambition. "The second Pushkin" or "the first female poet" - that's what I deserve and, maybe, I'll wait. You don't need less...

Yourself - a separate room and a desk. Russia - what she wants ...

Considered courageous. Although I don't know a better person. I'm afraid of everything. Eye, blackness, step, and most of all - yourself. No one sees, does not know that I have been looking for a year with my eyes - a hook. Year trying on death. I don't want to die. I want not to be. One must have the highest ability to live, but an even greater ability to die! The heroism of the soul is to live, the heroism of the body is to die ...

Life is a station... life is a place where you can't live.

What is confession? Boast about your vices! Who could talk about their torments without ecstasy, that is, happiness?!

For my children, I will wish not another soul, but another life, and if this is not possible, my own unfortunate happiness.

Man is the reason for the explosion. (Why do volcanoes explode?) Sometimes volcanoes explode with treasure. Let it explode more than get it.

… Oh, the imposters are a pathetic effort!
Like a dream, like snow, like death - shrines - to everyone.
Kremlin ban? There is no ban on wings!
And therefore - there is no ban on the Kremlin!

The one who is more to blame is right in love.

You have a ring with a black stone on your hand. You wear it that you are used to it because you have been wearing it for ten years. But in the small town where you live, no one knows its name. You wear it simply and cheerfully, as you would wear it in its place - any other: on the first day, because it was just presented to you, today, because it was presented to you ten years ago. Replace it with black glass, you won't even notice. - Whose stone is in your ring?

To do what I do not want for me is an impossibility. Not doing what I want is a normal state.

Emperor - the capital,
Drummer - snow.

... and the truth is more complete than you think: for a tree makes noise towards you only if you feel it, you feel it that way, but it just makes noise like that. Only to you and no one else, as well as: no one. You - if you hear it like that (love), or if no one needs it - no one.

I am writing to you on a heavenly morning: not a single cloud, the sun floods my forehead and the table, I squint and squint like a cat. We've had this weather for several days now, and we don't want to do anything. Autumn, leaving, seemed to think, looked back at the summer and could not turn back to winter. Such days irritate me, like any undeserved kindness.

A title is a deep thing, I am surprised at the superficial, purely verbal - beyond the semantic - attitude towards it of its bearers.<...>The Principality is above all a halo. Under the halo you need a face.

Jewish girl - between brides -
What a rose among willows!
And the old silver grandfathers cross
Changed to David's Shield.

I did not say at all that art cannot be judged, I only said that no one can judge it like a poet.

I regard the sea as a lost place for walking. I have nothing to do with him. Only a sailor or a fisherman can love the sea. The rest is human laziness, loving its own lying on the sand.

Having dealt with me as with a thing, you yourself became a thing for me, an empty place, and for a while I myself became an empty house, because the place that you occupied in my soul was not small.<...>
Live as best you can - you also don’t know how well - and with my light hand, it seems even worse than before me - You, like me, need ends and beginnings, and you, like me, break into a person, immediately into his core, and then there is nowhere .
For me, earthly love is a dead end. Our sleigh did not get anywhere, everything remained a dream.

I am an inexhaustible source of heresies. Knowing none, I confess them all. I may be creating.

It is important for us to agree, agree and - having agreed - to keep. After all, it usually fails because both are unreliable. When one is reliable, there is already hope. And we are both reliable, you and I.

There are women who, by honor, had neither friends nor lovers: friends became lovers too soon, lovers became friends.

The care of the poor: to turn the old into the new, the rich: the new into the old.

I know everything that was, everything that will be,
I know the whole deaf-mute secret,
What's on the dark, on the tongue-tied
The language of the people is called - Life.

Fascination: a separate area, like the mind, like a gift, like beauty - and not consisting of either one, or the other, or the third. Not consisting, as they are incomposite, indecomposable, indivisible.

My love for you was shattered into days and letters, hours and lines.

"Sharp feelings" and "necessary thoughts"
I was not given by God.
You need to sing that everything is dark,
That dreams hung over the world ...
- That's how it's done now. -
These feelings and these thoughts
I was not given by God!

The poet's work is only a series of mistakes, a string of renunciations flowing from each other. Each line - be it a cry! - thought worked all over his brain.

To persuasiveness, to
Kills are simple:
Two birds made a nest for me:
Truth - and Orphanhood.

Whistle boyish pain
And squeeze your heart in a handful ...
My cold-blooded, my berserk
Freedman - sorry!

- “Wait, you bastard, when you will be a cat, and I will be a lady” ...
(The imaginary beginning of the cat's speech is to me.)

Do not love, rich, - poor,
Do not love, scientist, - stupid,
Do not love, ruddy, - pale,
Do not love, good, - harmful:
Golden - copper half!

For a happy person, life should rejoice, encourage him in this rare gift. Because happiness comes from happiness.

It was not for nothing that I so strangely, so closely loved that embroidered picture: a young woman, at her feet two children, girls.
And she looks - over the children - into the distance.

When people are so abandoned by people like you and me - there is nothing to climb to God - like beggars. He has a lot of them without us!

There are unloving tragedies in nature: a tornado, a hurricane, hail. (I would call the city a family tragedy in nature).

The only love tragedy in nature: a thunderstorm.

Heart swept: with a broom
Street at six in the morning.

Let the young people not remember
About bent old age.
Let them not remember the old
About blessed youth.

The eye sees the invisible distance,
The heart sees the most invisible connection.
The ear drinks - an unheard-of rumor.
Div is crying over the broken Igor.

Love and motherhood are almost mutually exclusive. True motherhood is courageous.

I perceive whiteness not as the absence of color, but as the presence.

Glory! I didn't want you
I couldn't carry you...

I started laughing and dressing up at the age of 20, and I rarely smiled before.
I do not know a person more heroic in early youth than myself.

I love the rich. Wealth is a halo. In addition, you never expect anything good from them, like from kings, so the simple, reasonable word on their lips is revelation, the simple-human feeling is heroism. Wealth multiplies everything (resonance of zero!). I thought it was a bag of money, no - a man. In addition, wealth gives self-awareness and peace of mind (“everything I do is good!”) - as a gift, so I am at my level with the rich. With others, I am too “humiliated”.
I love the rich. I swear and affirm that the rich are kind (because it costs them nothing) and beautiful (because they dress well). If you can't be a man, or handsome, or noble, you have to be rich.

Good glory, with just - glory - unfamiliar. Glory: to talk about me. Good fame: no matter what they say about me - bad. Good reputation: one of our modesty - and all our honesty.

The poet cannot sing of the state - whatever it may be - for he is an elemental phenomenon, while the state - any - is the curbing of the elements.
Such is the nature of our breed that we respond more to a burning house than to a house under construction.

You become God through joy, man through suffering. This does not mean that the gods do not suffer and do not rejoice - people.

To the music.
A terrible weakening, a fall in me of an emotional beginning: a recollection of feelings. I feel only in a dream or with music. I live by a clearly rational principle: the soul has become rational, or rather, the mind has become the soul. Previously, she lived in turmoil: longing, love, lived madly, did not understand anything, did not want to and could not define or consolidate. Now the slightest movement in oneself and in another - it is clear why and why.
Only music and sleep knock me out of the saddle.

Know one thing: no one is a couple for you -
And throw yourself on everyone's chest.

I would like to live on the street and listen to music.

Life is one thing, love is another. Never in life: always in love.

You have succeeded in something that no one has been able to do until now: to tear me away not from: myself (everyone tore me), but from: his own.

The dash and italics are the only transmitters of intonation in print.

Poets are the only true lovers of women.

French women are not shy about opening their necks and shoulders (and chests) in front of men, but they are shy about doing so in front of the sun.

This is my life sang - howled -
Buzzed - like an autumn surf -
And she cried to herself.

When people, facing me for an hour, are horrified by the size of the feelings that they evoke in me, they make a triple mistake: not they - not in me - not sizes. Simple: the immensity that gets in the way. And they may be right in one thing only: in a sense of horror.

And a child's tear for a hero,
And a hero's tear for a child,
And big stone mountains
On the chest of the one who should - down ...

Silly loneliness from the fact that no one remembered the day of your name day (July 17th - I didn’t remember myself!)

Creativity is a common cause, created by the solitary.

Tango! - How many destinies it brought together and divorced!

We have been given a lifetime to live together. Let us live it as best as possible, perhaps more amicably.
To do this, I need your and my trust. Let's be allies. Alliance (despite everything and through everyone!) destroys jealousy.
This is the beginning of the humanity needed in love. "Not for life." Yes, but what about for life? (Since life itself is “not for life” - and thank God!)

Love conquers everything except poverty and toothache.

A woman is mediocre: when she doesn’t love (anyone), when the one she doesn’t love doesn’t love.

And forever the same -
Let the hero in the novel love!

Life: knives on which he dances
Loving.

When I write lying down, in my shirt, with my notebook on my raised knees, I inevitably feel like Nekrasov on his deathbed.

To all of you - to me, who did not know the measure in anything,
Aliens and yours?! -
I make a claim of faith
And asking for love.

There are no small events. There are little people.

The memory weighs too much on the shoulders
I will cry about earthly things and in paradise,
I am old words at our new meeting
I don't hide.

She circled my eyes
Shadow - insomnia.
I've got insomnia in my eyes
Shadow crown.

Friend! Rain outside my window
Troubles and blessings in the heart ...

The book must be written by the reader. The best reader reads with their eyes closed.

I don't dream, I dream it.

What do I want from you, Reiner? Nothing. Total. So that you allow me every moment of my life to direct my gaze to you - as to the peak that protects (a kind of stone guardian angel!). While I did not know you - it was possible and so, but now that I know you - permission is required.
For my soul is well educated.

And forever the same -
Let the hero in the novel love!

All women lead into the mists.

Chosen ghetto. Shaft. Ditch.
Don't expect mercy.
In this most Christian of all worlds
Poets are Jews.

If born winged -
What are her mansions - and what are her huts!

I know everything that was, everything that will be,
I know the whole deaf-mute secret,
What's on the dark, on the tongue-tied
The language of the people is called - Life.

And if the heart breaks
Removes stitches without a doctor, -
Know that from the heart - there is a head,
And there is an ax - from the head ...

Emperor - the capital,
Drummer - snow.

Some without curvature -
Life is expensive.

Do not love the rich - the poor,
Do not love, scientist - stupid
Do not love, ruddy - pale,
Do not love, good - harmful:
Golden - copper half!

Do not be ashamed, the country of Russia!
Angels are always barefoot...

Let the young people not remember
About a hunched old age.
Let them not remember the old
About blessed youth.

Heart - love potions
The potion is the best.
Woman from the cradle
Someone's mortal sin.

The whole sea needs the whole sky,
A whole heart needs the whole of God.

And the indifferent - God will punish!
It's scary to walk on the soul alive.

Indefinitely the ship does not sail
And do not sing the nightingale.

I bless the daily work,
I bless the nightly sleep.
Lord's mercy - and the Lord's judgment,
Good law - and stone law.

The world is sad. God has no sadness!

... Forever in blind man's buff
Playing with reality is bad.

All on the same road
Drogs will drag -
At an early, late hour.

Woe, woe, salty sea!
You will feed
You will drink
You will spin
You will serve!
Bitterness! Bitterness! Eternal flavor
On your lips, oh passion! Bitterness! Bitterness!
Eternal temptation -
More final fall.

Hussar! - Still not finished with dolls,
- Ah! - in the cradle we are waiting for the hussar!

Children are tender riddles of the world,
And the answer lies in the riddles themselves!

Valor and virginity! This union
Ancient and wondrous, like death and glory.

Friend! Indifference is a bad school!
It hardens the heart.

There are more important things in the world
Passionate storms and labors of love.

There is a certain hour - like a dropped load:
When we tame pride in ourselves.
The hour of apprenticeship is in everyone's life
Solemnly inevitable.

Woman from the cradle
Someone's mortal sin.

For the prince - the family, for the seraphim - the host,
Behind each - thousands of people like him,
To stagger - on a living wall
Fell and knew that - thousands of shifts!

Beast - lair,
Wanderer - the road
Dead - drogi.
To each his own.

Know one thing: that tomorrow you will be old.
The rest, baby, forget it.

And her tears - water, and blood -
Water, - in blood, in tears washed!
Not a mother, but a stepmother - Love:
Don't expect judgment or mercy.

And so will the moons melt
And melt the snow
When this young one rushes by,
A lovely age.

Every verse is a child of love
Beggar illegitimate,
Firstborn - at the rut
To bow to the winds - laid.

Who is in the sand, who is in school.
To each his own.
On people's heads
Leisa, oblivion!

Who did not build houses -
The earth is unworthy.

Who doesn't owe friends -T
from hardly generous to girlfriends.

Lighter than a fox
hide under clothes
How to hide you
Jealousy and tenderness!

Love! Love! And in convulsions and in the coffin
I will be alert - I will be seduced - I will be embarrassed - I will rush.

People, believe me: we are alive with longing!
Only in anguish we are victorious over boredom.
Will everything move? Will it be flour?
No, flour is better!

We sleep - and now, through the stone slabs
Heavenly guest in four petals.
O world, understand! Singer - in a dream - open
Star law and flower formula.

Do not love the rich - the poor,
Do not love, scientist - stupid,
Do not love, ruddy - pale,
Do not love, good - harmful:
Golden - copper half!

One half of the window is gone.
One half of the soul showed up.
Let's open it - and that half,
And that half of the window!

Olympians?! Their eyes are asleep!
Celestials - we - sculpt!

Hands that are not needed
Dear, serve - the World.

... Washes away the best blush Love.

Poems grow like stars and like roses
Like beauty - unnecessary in the family.

The evening is already creeping, the earth is already in the dew,
Soon the starry blizzard will freeze in the sky,
And under the ground we will soon fall asleep,
Who on earth did not let each other fall asleep.

I love women that they were not shy in battle,
Those who knew how to hold a sword and a spear, -
But I know that only in the captivity of the cradle
The usual - female - my happiness!

In a dialogue with life, it is not her question that matters, but our answer.

You can joke with a person, but you can't joke with his name.

Women talk about love and are silent about lovers, men - vice versa.

Love in us is like a treasure, we don’t know anything about it, it’s all about the case.

To love is to see a person as God intended him and his parents did not realize him.

For the complete coherence of souls, the coherence of breath is needed, for what is breath, if not the rhythm of the soul? So, in order for people to understand each other, it is necessary that they walk or lie side by side.

There are meetings, there are feelings when everything is given at once and there is no need to continue. Continue, because it is to check.

Every time I find out that a person loves me, I am surprised; he does not love me - I am surprised, but most of all I am surprised when a person is indifferent to me.

Love and motherhood are almost mutually exclusive. True motherhood is courageous.

Love: in winter from cold, in summer from heat, in spring from the first leaves, in autumn from the last: always - from everything.

Betrayal already points to love. You can't betray a friend.

The body in youth is an outfit, in old age it is a coffin from which you are torn!

Goddesses married gods, gave birth to heroes, and loved shepherds.

Our best words are intonations.

Creativity is a common cause, created by solitary people.

The future is an area of legends about us, just like the past is an area of divination about us (although it seems the other way around). The present is only a tiny field of our activity.

For a happy person, life should rejoice, encourage him in this rare gift. Because happiness comes from happiness.

Wings are freedom only when they are open in flight, behind their backs they are heaviness.

How delightful is the preaching of equality from the prince's lips - so disgusting from the janitor's.

Favorable conditions? They are not for the artist. Life itself is an unfavorable condition.

In the Orthodox Church (temple) I feel the body going to the ground, in the Catholic Church I feel the soul flying to the sky.

A woman who remembers Heinrich Heine the moment her lover enters loves only Heinrich Heine.

Kinship by blood is rough and firm, kinship by election is subtle. Where it is thin, it breaks there.

The curve takes out, the straight line drowns.

- Know yourself! - I knew. And that doesn't make it any easier for me to know the other. On the contrary, as soon as I begin to judge a person by myself, misunderstanding after misunderstanding turns out.

I love the rich. I swear and affirm that the rich are kind (because it costs them nothing) and beautiful (because they dress well).

If you can't be a man, or handsome, or noble, you have to be rich.

Our children are older than us, because they have longer, longer life. Older than us from the future. Therefore, sometimes they are alien to us.

The girls of that circle almost exclusively lived by feelings and arts and thus understood more about the affairs of the heart than our most lively, most sober, most enlightened contemporaries. (About Pushkin's time).

Sport is a waste of time for a waste of energy. Below the athlete is only his spectator.

Each book is a steal from one's own life. The more you read, the less you know how and want to live on your own.

Marina Tsvetaeva - the greatest Russian poetess of the 20th century tragic fate. Incredibly talented, she started writing poetry at the age of 6, and not only in Russian, but also in French and German! The first collection of poems, published by her at the age of 18, immediately attracted the attention of famous poets.

She gave the world the most beautiful poetry. Sincere, direct and poignant…

Life did not spare Marina Tsvetaeva ... Her husband was shot on suspicion of political espionage, a 3-year-old child died of starvation in an orphanage, and her second daughter was repressed for 15 years. Left alone with her son, she tried to find work, but even the Literary Fund rejected her application, believing that Tsvetaeva might turn out to be a German spy.

Pasternak, escorting Tsvetaeva to the evacuation, gave her a rope for her suitcase, not even suspecting what a terrible role this rope was destined to play. Unable to bear the humiliation, Marina Tsvetaeva committed suicide on August 31, 1941 by hanging herself on it.

We have collected 25 quotes from this beautiful woman that reveal the depth and wisdom of her tragic fate:

“I will love you all summer” sounds much more convincing than “all my life” and - most importantly - much longer!

If you came in now and said: “I am leaving for a long time, forever,” or: “It seems to me that I don’t love you anymore,” I would not seem to feel anything new: every time you leave, every hour when you are gone, you are gone forever and you don't love me.

After all, you fall in love only with someone else's, native - you love.

You need to meet for love, for the rest there are books.

Creativity is a common cause, created by solitary people.

The world has a limited number of souls and an unlimited number of bodies.

To love means to see a person as God intended him and his parents did not realize him.

If I love a person, I want him to feel better from me - at least a sewn on button. From the sewn on button to my whole soul.

Success is to be on time.

What can you know about me, since you did not sleep with me and did not drink?

There is no second you on earth.

I don't want to have a point of view. I want to have vision.

Listen and remember: anyone who laughs at the misfortune of another is a fool or a scoundrel; most often it's both.

The only thing that people do not forgive is that you, in the end, managed without them.

The sculptor depends on the clay. Paint artist. String musician. The hand of an artist, a musician can stop. The poet has only a heart.

"To endure - fall in love." I love this phrase, just the opposite.

Favorite things: music, nature, poetry, loneliness. I loved simple and empty places that no one likes. I love physics, its mysterious laws of attraction and repulsion, similar to love and hate.

In one thing, I am a real woman: I judge everyone and everyone according to myself, I put my speeches into everyone’s mouth, my feelings into my chest. Therefore, everything is with me in the first minute: kind, generous, generous, sleepless and insane.

How much better I see a person when not with him!

No one wants - no one can understand one thing: that I am all alone. Acquaintances and friends - all of Moscow, but not a single one who is for me - no, without me! - will die.

Men are not accustomed to pain, like animals. When they hurt, they immediately have such eyes that you can do anything, if only they would stop.

Whether to dream together, whether to sleep together, but always cry alone.

Oh, my God, but they say that there is no soul! What hurts me now? - Not a tooth, not a head, not a hand, not a chest - no, a chest, in the chest, where you breathe - I breathe deeply: it doesn’t hurt, but it hurts all the time, it aches all the time, unbearably!

Humanly, we can sometimes love ten, lovingly - many - two. Inhuman - always one.

I want such a modest, deadly simple thing: that when I enter, a person would be happy.

Based on materials - mirkrasoty.life

Prepared by: Dmitry Sirotkin

Happy to have compiled quotes from Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva .

Maybe, by concentration feelings per word unit, it surpasses poets, and in concentration of thought per word unit - philosophers.

So there are a lot of quotes. They are spaced by topic: love, poetry, poets, about yourself, relationships, life ethics, people, women, men, soul, life, Motherland, books, children and parents, family, miscellaneous.

About love

I will win you back from all lands, from all skies...

The first love glance is the shortest distance between two points, that divine straight line, which is not the second.

Women love not men, but Love, men love not Love, but women. Women never change. Men - always.

Love is a strange thing: it feeds on hunger and dies of food.

Every love is a deal. Skin for money. Skin for skin. Skin for the soul. When you get neither one, nor the other, nor the third, even such a dumb merchant like me stops the loan.

"To endure - fall in love." I love this phrase, just the opposite.

And forever the same -
Let the hero in the novel love!

"I will love you all summer" - it sounds much more convincing than "all my life" and - most importantly - much longer!

I love two things: You - and Love.

After all, you fall in love only with someone else's, your own - you love.

The one who is more to blame is right in love.

If I love a person, I want him to feel better from me - at least a sewn on button. From the sewn on button to my whole soul.

Love: in winter from cold, in summer from heat, in spring from the first leaves, in autumn from the last: always from everything.

About poetry

Art is the same nature. Do not look for other laws in it, except for your own (not the self-will of the artist, who does not exist, but precisely the laws of art). Maybe - art is only an offshoot of nature (a type of its creativity). It is certain: a work of art is a work of nature, just as born, not created.

There is no genius without will, but there is still more, there is still less - without inspiration. The will is that unit to countless billions of inspiration, thanks to which only they are billions (realize their billionness) and without which they are zeros - that is, bubbles over the sinking. The last atom of resistance to the elements for its glory - and there is art. Nature overcoming itself for its own glory.

As long as you are a poet, there is no death for you in the elements, for everything returns you to the elements of the elements: the word.
As long as you are a poet, there is no death for you in the elements, for there is no death, but a return to the bosom.
The death of a poet is a renunciation of the elements. It's easier to cut your own veins right away.

All art is one given answer.

All our art lies in being able (to be in time) to counter each answer, until the question has evaporated. This jumping over you with answers is inspiration.

Those half an hour of Gogol by the fireplace did more for good and against art than Tolstoy's whole long-term sermon.

In essence, all the work of a poet comes down to the fulfillment, the physical fulfillment of a spiritual (not one's own) task. As well as the entire will of the poet - to the working will to implementation. (There is no individual creative will.)

The word for ideas is the body, for the elements it is the soul.

There is no need to work on poetry, it is necessary that poetry work on you (in you!)

The poet sees an unsculpted statue, an unpainted picture, and hears unplayed music.

Fear concepts that are clothed in words, rejoice in words that reveal concepts.

Creativity is a common cause, created by solitary people.

The poet cannot sing of the state - whatever it may be - for he is an elemental phenomenon, while the state - any - is the curbing of the elements.

About poets

The poet is the answer. Pushkin said: for everything. Genius answer.

The poet inevitably fails in all other ways of realization. Habitual, accustomed (by himself) to the absolute, he demands from life what it cannot give.

Oh, poets, poets! The only true lovers of women!

Which poet of the past and present is not a Negro, and which poet has not been killed?

When I think about the moral essence of this human being: a poet, I always remember the definition of Tolstoy's father in "Childhood and Adolescence": - He belonged to that dangerous breed of people who can tell the same act as the greatest baseness and as the most innocent joke .

A cynic cannot be a poet.

Poet! poet! The most animated and how often - perhaps just by its animation - the most inanimate object!

The earthly foundation of a genius is too vast and solid to allow him - so - to go to the heights. If Shakespeare, Goethe, Pushkin were higher, they would not have heard much, they would not have answered much, they simply would not have condescended to much.

About A. Pushkin: Pushkin infected me with love. In a word, love. After all, it is different: a thing that has no name at all - and a thing that has that name.
What happiness for Russia that Pushkin was killed by the hand of a foreigner, his own was not found.

About K. Balmont: And so Balmont will remain in Russian poetry - an overseas guest who gave gifts, spoke, bewitched her - on the fly - and also sunk.

About V. Bryusov: By the will of a miracle - all of Pushkin. The miracle of will is the whole of Bryusov.

About A. Blok: What is surprising is not that he died, but that he lived. After all, he is such a clear triumph of the spirit.

About S. Yesenin: Yesenin had a gift for singing, but there was no personality. His tragedy is the tragedy of emptiness. By the age of 30, he internally ended. He had only youth.

About V. Mayakovsky: Twelve years in a row the man Mayakovsky killed the poet Mayakovsky in himself, on the thirteenth the poet got up and killed the man. If there is suicide in this life, it is not where it is seen, and it lasted not a trigger pull, but twelve years of life.

About M. Voloshin: The deeper I look into the bottomless well of memory, the sharper two faces of Max rise up to meet me: the Greek myth and the German fairy tale.

About R. Rilke: You are poetry incarnate, your very name is already a poem. You are a natural phenomenon that cannot be mine and that you do not love, but feel with your whole being, or you are the incarnation of the fifth element: poetry itself, or you are that from which poetry is born and what is more than poetry itself - you.

About myself: "The second Pushkin" or "the first female poet" - that's what I deserve and maybe I'll wait. You don't need less...

About Me

Forty-seven years old I will say that everything that I was destined to learn, I learned before the age of seven, and all the subsequent forty years I was aware.

My soul is monstrously jealous: it would not bear me as a beauty. Talking about appearance in my cases is unreasonable: the matter is so obvious, and so much - not in it!

In my feelings, as in children, there are no degrees.

The immensity of my words is only a faint shadow of the immensity of my feelings.

I HURRY, you know? I am a skinned man, and you are all in armor. All of you: art, community, friendship, entertainment, family, duty - I, in depth, nothing.

The most intoxicating thing for me is devotion in adversity. It overshadows everything.

I know that this is the last time I live.

I am not a love heroine, I will never go into a lover, always into love.

Nobody took anything!
I'm glad we're apart.
I kiss you - through the hundreds
Separating versts.

Oh, how many women have loved and will love you more. Everyone will love you more. No one will love you like this...

What am I doing in the world? - I listen to my soul.

All people took care of my poems, no one took care of my soul.

I have a special gift to go with myself (thoughts, poems, even love) just not-to-those.

I'm insatiable at heart.

I started laughing and dressing up at the age of 20, and I rarely smiled before. I do not know a person more heroic in early youth than myself.

The clarity of my feelings makes people mistake them for reasoning.

I want you to love me for who I am. This is the only means (to be loved - or unloved).

Who is made of stone, who is made of clay, -
And I'm silver and sparkle!
I care - treason, my name is Marina,
I am the mortal foam of the sea.

For the speed of swift events,
For the truth, for the game...
- Listen! - still love me
For me to die.

The greatest pleasure of my life was walking - lonely and fast, fast and lonely. My great lonesome gallop.

I want such a modest, deadly simple thing: that when I enter, a person would be happy.

About relationships

Every time I find out that a person loves me - I am surprised, does not love - I am surprised, but most of all I am surprised when a person is indifferent to me.

To love is to see a person as God intended him and his parents did not realize him. Not to love - to see a person the way his parents made him. Fall out of love - to see instead of him: a table, a chair.

I like that you are not sick of me,
I like that I'm not sick of you,
That never a heavy globe of the earth
Won't float under our feet.

For to understand another means to become this other at least for an hour.

For the complete coherence of souls, the coherence of breath is needed, for what is breath, if not the rhythm of the soul? So, in order for people to understand each other, it is necessary that they walk or lie side by side.

It is sad to admit, but we are good only with those in whose eyes we can still gain or lose something.

"Beloved" - theatrical, "lover" - frankly, "Friend" - indefinitely. Unloved country!

Humanly, we can sometimes love ten, lovingly - many - two. Inhuman - always one ...

Each of us, at the bottom of our souls, lives a strange feeling of contempt for someone who loves us too much. (Some kind of “and just something”? - that is, if you love me so much, me, you yourself are not God knows what!)

We want eternal fidelity not from Penelope, but from Carmen - only the faithful Don Juan is worth the price!

You are dear to me. But - I just have nothing more to breathe with you.

Betrayal already points to love. You can't betray a friend.

Lie. I do not despise myself when I lie, but you, who makes me lie.

No man has yet judged the sun because it shines on another...

For me, loneliness - at times - is the only way to know the other, a direct necessity.

Bayukai - but please, be a friend:
Not with letters, but with a cabin of hands:
Comforts...

O cry of women of all times:
My dear, what have I done to you?!

I catch the movement of the lips.
And I know - will not say the first.
- Do not love? - No, I love it.
Do not love? - But tormented.

About life ethics

One must live in such a way that the Soul comes true.

In dialogue with life, it is not her question that matters, but our answer.

The sin is not in the darkness, but in the unwillingness of the light.

A man's strength often lies in what he cannot do, not in what he can. My "can't" is the main power. So, there is something that, contrary to all my desires, still does not want to.

Listen and remember: anyone who laughs at the misfortune of another is a fool or a scoundrel; more often than not, it's both.

Friend! Indifference is a bad school
She hardens the heart.

You need to meet for love, for the rest there are books.

It is better to lose a person with all of yourself than to keep him with some kind of hundredth.

About people

There are no small events. There are little people.

The one who does without people - without that people do.

When people, being bored, are deprived of their face, they become first a herd, then a pack.

How much better I see a person when not with him!

The only thing that people do not forgive is that you, in the end, managed without them.

For a happy person, life should rejoice, encourage him in this rare gift. Because happiness comes from happiness.

My generation is knee-deep for me.

Void swallowers, newspaper readers.

The more I get to know people, the more I love trees!

About women

All women lead into the mists.

All women are divided into those who go for maintenance and those who take maintenance. I belong to the latter.

Love and motherhood are almost mutually exclusive. True motherhood is courageous.

A woman, if she is a man, needs a man as a luxury - very, very sometimes. Books, home, caring for children, the joys of children, lonely walks, hours of bitterness, hours of delight - what is a man to do? A woman, outside of a man, has two whole seas: life and her own soul.

Lovely! Or maybe I take care of myself so much because none of you took care of me enough?

“A woman cannot do it alone.”
- Human can.

When I don’t love, it’s not me ... I’ve been so long - it’s not me ...

No one despises an honest woman as much as an honest woman.

About men

Men are not accustomed to pain - like animals. When they hurt, they immediately have such eyes that you can do anything, if only they would stop.

How much I would never understand if I was born a man.

You are as forgetful as you are unforgettable.

Make your chest bear me - no! - in order for me to be spacious in it, EXPAND it - not for me: for chance, but for the sake of what breaks through me into you.

Look - to look - bold and bright,
Heart - five years old ...
Happy who didn't meet you
On his way.

About the soul

Something hurts: not a tooth, not a head, not a stomach, not - not - not - ... but it hurts. This is the soul.

The soul is the five senses. The virtuosity of one of them is a talent, the virtuosity of all five is a genius.

The soul is a sail. Wind is life.

The soul grows from everything, most of all from losses.

My soul is losing its head.

Wanting is the business of bodies,
And we are souls for each other ...

The world has a limited number of souls and an unlimited number of bodies.

There are bodies that are surprisingly similar to the soul.

About life

To your crazy world
There is only one answer - refusal ...

The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is that which has broken.

If something hurts - be silent, otherwise they will hit exactly there.

To be contemporary is to create your time, not reflect it.

I don't want to have a point of view. I want to have vision.

In general, I have an atrophy of the present, not only do I not live, I never go to it.

We joke, we joke, but the longing grows, grows...

The first reason for not accepting a thing is unpreparedness for it.

About Motherland

Motherland is not a convention of territory, but the immutability of memory and blood. Not to be in Russia, to forget it - only those who think Russia outside of themselves can be afraid. In whom it is inside, he will lose it along with his life. My homeland is wherever there is a desk, a window and a tree under this window.

I will not delude myself with my tongue
Native, his milky call.
I don't care what
Incomprehensible to be met!

Russia, to her credit, or rather to the honor of her conscience and not to the honor of her artistry, has always approached writers, or rather: she has always gone to writers - like a peasant to the tsar - for the truth, and it’s good when this tsar turned out to be Leo Tolstoy, and not Artsybashev.

About books

The book must be performed by the reader as a sonata. Letters are notes. It is up to the reader to realize or distort.

The book must be written by the reader. The best reader reads with their eyes closed.

Books have given me more than people. The memory of a person always pales before the memory of a book.

Each book is a steal from its own life. The more you read, the less you know how and want to live on your own.

About children and parents

Our children are older than us, because they have longer, longer life. Older than us from the future. Therefore, sometimes they are alien to us.

Children first love, then they judge, and then they pity their parents.

Do not be too angry with your parents - remember that they were you, and you will be them.

Kiss your child constantly - and there will always be love in his heart.

Boys need to be pampered - they may have to go to war.

About family

Marriage, where both are good - valiant, voluntary and mutual torment (-reading).

Family... Yes, boring, yes, meager, yes, the heart does not beat... Wouldn't it be better: a friend, a lover? But, having quarreled with my brother, I still have the right to say: “You must help me, because you are my brother ... (son, father ...)” But you won’t say this to your lover - you’ll cut off your tongue.

About Miscellaneous

Fashion has an eternal fear of falling behind, that is, a receipt for its own sheep.

Sport is a waste of time for a waste of energy. Below the athlete is only his spectator.

Tango! - How many destinies it brought together and divorced!

The face is light. And it really lights up and goes out.

Not a lot. Perhaps I needed to select quotes more strictly, but somehow I don’t want to.

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