Quote

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.

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
Never
Mines
Wound
Mine
Hide
Somebody
Stick
Happened
Wounds
Away
Sticks
Else
Sadness
Whisk
Take
Misery
Borne
Thing
Ground
Lamps

More quotes by Anna Akhmatova

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Who will grieve for this woman? Does she not seem too insignificant for our concern? Yet in my heart I never will deny her, Who suffered death because she chose to turn.
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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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Your voice is wild and simple. You are untranslatable Into any one tongue.
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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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I should be proud to have my memory graced, but only if the monument be placed... here, where I endured three hundred hours in line before the implacable iron bars.
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Natural thunder heralds the wetness of fresh water high clouds to quench the thirst of fields gone dry and parched, a messenger of blessed rain, but this was as dry as hell must be. My distraught perception refused to believe it, because of the insane suddenness with which it sounded, swelled and hit, and how casually it came to murder my child.
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I am in the middle of it: chaos and poetry poetry and love and again, complete chaos. Pain, disorder, occasional clarity and at the bottom of it all: only love poetry. Sheer enchantment, fear, humiliation. It all comes with love
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It was a time when only the dead smiled, happy in their peace.
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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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How the miracle of our meeting Shone there and sang, I didn't want to return From there to anywhere. Happiness instead of duty Was bitter delight to me. Not obliged to speak to anyone, I spoke for a long while. Let passions stifle lovers, Demanding answers, We, my dear, are only souls At the limits of the world.
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This Cruel Age has deflected me.
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We are all carousers and loose women here How unhappy we are together!
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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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Sunset in the ethereal waves: I cannot tell if the day is ending, or the world, or if the secret of secrets is inside me again.
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It is unbearably painful for the soul to love silently.
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I know beginnings, I know endings too, and life-in-death, and something else I'd rather not recall just now.
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You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.
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I have long had this premonition of a bright day and a deserted house
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All that I am hangs by a thread tonight
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There is a sacred, secret line in loving which attraction and even passion cannot cross.
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