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And you know, I agree to everything: I will condemn, I will forget, I will give comfort to the enemy, Darkness will be light and sin lovely.

Anna Akhmatova

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Anna Akhmatova
Age: 76 †
Born: 1889
Born: June 23
Died: 1966
Died: March 5
Author
Literary Critic
Literary Scholar
Poet
Translator
Writer
Odesa
Anna Andreyevna Gorenko
Anna Achmatova
Anna Ahmatova
Anna Gorenko
Anna Andreevna Gorenko
Anna Andreevna Akhmatova
Everything
Agree
Giving
Sin
Comfort
Darkness
Enemy
Forget
Light
Condemn
Give
Lovely

More quotes by Anna Akhmatova

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The triumphs of a mysterious non-meeting are desolate ones unspoken phrases, silent words.
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Hands, matches, an ashtray. A ritual beautiful and bitter.
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And it seemed to me that there were fires Flying till dawn without number And I never found out things-those Strange eyes of his-what colour? Everything trembling and singing and Were you my enemy or my friend, Winter was it or summer?
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If I can't have love, if I can't find peace, / Give me a bitter glory.
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The word dropped like a stone on my still living breast. Confess: I was prepared, am somehow ready for the test.
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I am not one of those who left the land to the mercy of its enemies. Their flattery leaves me cold, my songs are not for them to praise.
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Your voice is wild and simple. You are untranslatable Into any one tongue.
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Give me bitter years of sickness, Suffocation, insomnia, fever, Take my child and my lover, And my mysterious gift of song This I pray at your liturgy After so many tormented days, So that the stormcloud over darkened Russia Might become a cloud of glorious rays.
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I have long had this premonition of a bright day and a deserted house
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The secret of secrets is inside me again.
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This cruel age has deflected me, like a river from this course. Strayed from its familiar shores, my changeling life has flowed into a sister channel. How many spectacles I've missed: the curtain rising without me, and falling too. How many friends I never had the chance to meet.
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Forgive me, that I manage badly, Manage badly but live gloriously, That I leave traces of myself in my songs, That I appeared to you in waking dreams.
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... he is rewarded with a form of eternal childhood, with the bounty and vigilance of the stars, the whole world was his inheritance and he shared it with everyone.
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Courage: Great Russian word, fit for the songs of our children's children, pure on their tongues, and free.
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I seem to myself, as in a dream, Am accidental guest in this dreadful body.
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It was a time when only the dead smiled, happy in their peace.
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Not, not mine: it's somebody else's wound I could never have borne it. So take the thing that happened, hide it, stick it in the ground whisk the lamps away.
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As the future ripens in the past, so the past rots in the future -- a terrible festival of dead leaves.
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The stars of death stood over us. And Russia, guiltless, beloved, writhed under the crunch of bloodstained boots, under the wheels of Black Marias.
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