Mikhail Bulgakov Quotes
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Allow me to inquire how man can control his own affairs when he is not only incapable of compiling a plan for some laughably short term such as, say, a thousand years, but cannot even predict what will happen to him tomorrow?
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Second freshness - that's what is nonsense! There is only one freshness - the first - and it is also the last. And if sturgeon is of the second freshness, that means it is simply rotten.
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The hope that there she would manage to regain her happiness made her fearless.
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Obedient to constraint, I was compelled to submit.
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Is that vodka?" Margarita asked weakly. The cat jumped up in his seat with indignation. "I beg pardon, my queen," he rasped, "Would I ever allow myself to offer vodka to a lady? This is pure alcohol!
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Nobody should be whipped. Remember that, once and for all. Neither man nor animal can be influenced by anything but suggestion.
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What would your good do if evil didn't exist, and what would the earth look like if all the shadows disappeared?
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I wouldn’t like to meet you when you’ve got a revolver,” said Margarita with a coquettish look at Azazello. She had a passion for people who did things well.
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Everything passes away-suffering,pain, blood, hunger,pestilence. The sword will pass away too, but the stars will remain when the shadows of our presence and our deeds have vanished from the Earth. There is no man who does not know that. Why, then, will we not turn our eyes toward the stars? Why?
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To struggle against censorship, whatever its nature, and whatever the power under which it exists, is my duty as a writer, as are calls for freedom of the press. I am a passionate supporter of that freedom, and I consider that if any writer were to imagine that he could prove he didn't need that freedom, then he would be like a fish affirming in public that it didn't need water.
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In order to be in control, you have to have a definite plan for at least a reasonable period of time. So how, may I ask, can man be in control if he can't even draw up a plan for a ridiculously short period of time, say, a thousand years, and is, moreover, unable to ensure his own safety for even the next day?
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The tongue may hide the truth but the eyes—never!
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What's the use of dying in a ward surrounded by a lot of groaning and croaking incurables? Wouldn't it be much better to throw a party with that twenty-seven thousand and take poison and depart for the other world to the sound of violins, surrounded by lovely drunken girls and happy friends?
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To speak the truth is easy and pleasant.
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Why try to pursue what is completed?
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The most amazing combinations can result if you shuffle the pack enough.
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Manuscripts don't burn.
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"We speak different languages, as usual," responded Woland, "but this does not change the things we speak about. Well?..."
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You are not Dostoevsky,' said the woman... 'You never can tell...' he answered. 'Dostoevsky is dead,' the woman said, a bit uncertainly. 'I protest!' he said with heat, 'Dostoevsky is immortal!
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I challenge you to a duel!” screamed the cat, sailing over their heads on the swinging chandelier.
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Just like a murderer jumps of nowhere in an ally, love jumped out in front of us and struck us both at once.
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Once upon a time there was a lady. She had no children, and no happiness either. And at first she cried for a long time, but then she became wicked.
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But worse things were about to be found in the bedroom: on the jeweller’s wife’s ottoman, in a casual pose, sprawled a third party- namely, a black cat of uncanny size, with a glass of vodka in one paw and a fork, on which he had managed to spear a pickled mushroom, in the other. , The Master and Magarita
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Foreign visitors . . . how impressed you all are with foreign visitors! But they come in many different varieties.