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My dreams, my dreams! What has become of their sweetness? What indeed has become of my youth?
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
Become
Sweetness
Indeed
Youth
Dreams
Dream
More quotes by Alexander Pushkin
As long as there is one heart on Earth where I still live, my memory will not die.
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My whole life has been pledged to this meeting with you.
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Inspiration is needed in geometry, just as much as in poetry.
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Better the illusions that exalt us than ten thousand truths.
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Please, never despise the translator. He's the mailman of human civilization.
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Mistress-like, its brilliance vain, highly capricious and inane.
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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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Fearing no insult, asking for no crown, receive with indifference both flattery and slander, and do not argue with a fool.
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Ecstasy is a glass full of tea and a piece of sugar in the mouth.
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I am married and happy. My only wish is that nothing will change.
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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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Somewhere between obsession and compulsion is impulse.
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In this, our age of infamy Man's choice is but to be A tyrant, traitor, prisoner: No other choice has he.
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I want to understand you, I study your obscure language.
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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.
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Don't be sad, don't be angry, if life deceives you! Submit to your grief - your time for joy will come, believe me.
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Ballet is a dance executed by the human soul.
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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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A deception that elevates us is dearer than a host of low truths.
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With womankind, the less we love them, the easier they become to charm.
Alexander Pushkin
