Alexander Pushkin Quotes
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God save us from seeing a Russian revolt, senseless and merciless. Those who plot impossible upheavals among us, are either young and do not know our people, or are hard-hearted men who do not care a straw either about their own lives or those of others.
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Hermann went out of his mind, and is now confined in room Number 17 of the Obukhov Hospital. He never answers any questions, but he constantly mutters with unusual rapidity: 'Three, seven, ace!' 'Three, seven, queen!'
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Upon the brink of the wild stream He stood, and dreamt a mighty dream.
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The heavy hanging chains shall fall,The walls shall crumble at the word,And Freedom greet you with the lightAnd brothers give you back the sword.
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Mosalsky: Good folk! Maria Godunov and her son Feodor have poisoned themselves. We have seen their dead bodies. The People are silent with horror. Why are ye silent? Cry, Long live the Tsar Dimitry Ivanovich! The People are speechless.
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Unforced, as conversation passed,he had the talent of salutingfelicitously every theme,of listening like a judge-supremewhile serious topics were disputing,or, with an epigram-surprise,of kindling smiles in ladies' eyes.
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Moscow... how many strains are fusingin that one sound, for Russian hearts!what store of riches it imparts!
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The less we show our love to a woman,Or please her less, and neglect our duty,The more we trap and ruin her surelyIn the flattering toils of philandery.
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'The bread of the stranger is bitter,' says Dante, 'and his staircase hard to climb.' But who can know what the bitterness of dependence is so well as the poor companion of an old lady of quality?
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God grant you, friends, a helping hand-In cares of state and private plights,In rowdy feasts of friendship's band,In passion's sweet and secret rites!God grant you, friends, a helping hand-In daily woes and days of strife,On vacant sa, in distant land,In every black abyss of life!
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And thus He mused: 'From here, indeedShall we strike terror in the Swede?And here a city by our laborFounded, shall gall our haughty neighbor;'Here cut' – so Nature gives command –Your window through on Europe; standFirm-footed by the sea, unchanging!
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Come purge my soul, Thou Master of my days,Of vain and empty words, of idle ways,Of base ambition and the urge to rule;That hidden serpent that corrupts a fool;and grant me, Lord, to see my sins alone.That I not call my brother to atone;Make chaste my heart and lend me from aboveThy fortitude, humility, and love.
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The illusion which exalts us is dearer to us than ten thousand truths.
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What grace could all your worldly power bringTo One whose crown of thorns has made him King,The Christ who gave His body to the flails,Who humbly bore the lance and piercing nails?Or do you fear the rabble might disgrace The One.
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Habit is Heaven's own redress:it takes the place of happiness.
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A man who's active and incisivecan yet keep nail-care much in mind:why fight what's known to be decisive?custom is despot of mankind.
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‘Tis time, my friend, ‘tis time!For rest the heart is aching;Days follow days in flight, and every day is takingFragments of being, while together you and IMake plans to live. Look, all is dust, and we shall die.
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Ah! heavy art thou, crown of Monomakh!
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Love passed, the Muse appeared, the weatherof mind got clarity new-found;now free, I once more weave togetheremotion, thought, and magic sound.
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Like some magistrate grown gray in office,Calmly he contemplates alike the justAnd unjust, with indifference he notesEvil and good, and knows not wrath nor pity.
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The illness with which he'd been smittenshould have been analysed when caught,something like spleen, that scourge of Britain,or Russia's chondria, for short.
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Two fixed ideas can no more exist together in the moral world than two bodies can occupy one and the same place in the physical world.
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Always contented with his life,and with his dinner, and his wife.
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The clock of doom had struck as fated;the poet, without a sound,let fall his pistol on the ground.