Quote

'Tis time, my friend, 'tis time! For rest the heart is aching Days follow days in flight, and every day is taking, Fragments of being, while together you and I, Make plans to live. Look, all is dust, and we shall die.

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
Make
Days
Flight
Time
Dies
Dust
Together
Follow
Live
Plans
Look
Taking
Looks
Friend
Heart
Rest
Aching
Every
Shall
Fragments

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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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Somewhere between obsession and compulsion is impulse.
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I was not born to amuse the Tsars.
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Thus people--so it seems to me-- Become good friends from sheer ennui.
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With womankind, the less we love them, the easier they become to charm.
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To love all ages yield surrender But to the young it's raptures bring A blessing bountiful and tender- As storms refresh the fields of spring.
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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 am married and happy. My only wish is that nothing will change.
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Cabbage soup and barley. They're Russia's national food. Both excellent in their way, but a shade monotonous.
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Better the illusions that exalt us than ten thousand truths.
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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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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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My whole life has been pledged to this meeting with you.
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I want to understand you, I study your obscure language.
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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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If you but knew the flames that burn in me which I attempt to beat down with my reason.
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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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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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Unrequited love is not an affront to man but raises him.
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