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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.
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
Love
Ruins
Surely
Toils
Please
Flattering
Duty
Trap
Less
Traps
Show
Toil
Woman
Ruin
Shows
Neglect
More quotes by Alexander Pushkin
Unrequited love is not an affront to man but raises him.
Alexander Pushkin
A deception that elevates us is dearer than a host of low truths.
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I do not like Moscow life. You live here not as you want to live, but as old women want you to.
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Ecstasy is a glass full of tea and a piece of sugar in the mouth.
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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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With womankind, the less we love them, the easier they become to charm.
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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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I want to understand you, I study your obscure language.
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Inspiration is needed in geometry, just as much as in poetry.
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Thus people--so it seems to me-- Become good friends from sheer ennui.
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Then came a moment of renaissance, I looked up - you again are there, A fleeting vision, the quintessence Of all that`s beautiful and rare.
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My whole life has been pledged to this meeting with you.
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Love passed, the Muse appeared, the weather of mind got clarity new-found now free, I once more weave together emotion, thought, and magic sound.
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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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'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
Write for pleasure and publish for money.
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I loved you: and, it may be, from my soul The former love has never gone away, But let it not recall to you my dole I wish not sadden you in any way. I loved you silently, without hope, fully, In diffidence, in jealousy, in pain I loved you so tenderly and truly, As let you else be loved by any man.
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I was not born to amuse the Tsars.
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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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Please, never despise the translator. He's the mailman of human civilization.
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