Quote

I’ve lived to bury my desires, And see my dreams corrode with rust Now all that’s left are fruitless fires That burn my empty heart to dust.

Alexander Pushkin

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Alexander Pushkin
Age: 37 †
Born: 1799
Born: June 6
Died: 1837
Died: February 10
Author
Book Collector
Dramaturge
Essayist
Historian
Librettist
Literary Critic
Novelist
Opinion Journalist
Playwright
Moscow
Russian SFSR
Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin
Aleksandr Pushkin
Aleksandr Serge'evich Pushkin
Pushkin
Dreams
Fires
Fire
Emptiness
Desire
Burn
Left
Desires
Dream
Dust
Corrode
Heart
Empty
Fruitless
Lived
Rust
Failure
Bury

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It is better to have dreamed a thousand dreams that never were than never to have dreamed at all.
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Please, never despise the translator. He's the mailman of human civilization.
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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 incisive can yet keep nail-care much in mind: why fight what's known to be decisive? Custom is despot of mankind.
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I was not born to amuse the Tsars.
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A deception that elevates us is dearer than a host of low truths.
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Sad that our finest aspiration, Our freshest dreams and meditations, In swift succession should decay, Like Autumn leaves that rot away.
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I loved you even now I may confess, Some embers of my love their fire retain But do not let it cause you more distress, I do not want to sadden you again. Hopeless and tongue tied, yet I loved you dearly With pangs the jealous and the timid know So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely, I pray God grant another love you so.
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Inspiration is needed in geometry, just as much as in poetry.
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Try to be forgotten. Go live in the country. Stay in mourning for two years, then remarry, but choose somebody decent.
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It's a lucky man, a very lucky man, who is committed to what he believes, who has stifled intellectual detachment and can relax in the luxury of his emotions - like a tipsy traveller resting for the night at wayside inn.
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Somewhere between obsession and compulsion is impulse.
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Mistress-like, its brilliance vain, highly capricious and inane.
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Thus people--so it seems to me-- Become good friends from sheer ennui.
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Moral maxims are surprisingly useful on occasions when we can invent little else to justify our actions.
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Write for pleasure and publish for money.
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Moscow... how many strains are fusing in that one sound, for Russian hearts! What store of riches it imparts!
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Unrequited love is not an affront to man but raises him.
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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 surely, In the flattering toils of philandery.
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