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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.

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
Finest
Autumn
Freshest
Leaves
Meditations
Meditation
Swift
Dreams
Succession
Away
Idealism
Dream
Decay
Like
Aspiration

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I am married and happy. My only wish is that nothing will change.
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Inspiration is needed in geometry, just as much as in poetry.
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Ecstasy is a glass full of tea and a piece of sugar in the mouth.
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My dreams, my dreams! What has become of their sweetness? What indeed has become of my youth?
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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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It is better to have dreamed a thousand dreams that never were than never to have dreamed at all.
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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.
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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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My whole life has been pledged to this meeting with you.
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Mistress-like, its brilliance vain, highly capricious and inane.
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As long as there is one heart on Earth where I still live, my memory will not die.
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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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Ballet is a dance executed by the human soul.
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