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It is unbearably painful for the soul to love silently.
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
Unbearably
Silently
Painful
Soul
Love
More quotes by Anna Akhmatova
I seem to myself, as in a dream, Am accidental guest in this dreadful body.
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I myself, from the very beginning, Seemed to myself like someone's dream or delirium Or a reflection in someone else's mirror, Without flesh, without meaning, without a name. Already I knew the list of crimes That I was destined to commit.
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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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The celebrations Of secret nonmeetings are empty, Unspoken conversations, Unuttered words. Glances that don't intersect Don't know where to come to rest. And only the tears rejoice Because they can flow and flow. Sweetbrier around Moscow, Alas! Somehow it is here ... And all this they will call Love eternal.
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Real tenderness can't be confused, It's quiet and can't be heard.
Anna Akhmatova
The triumphs of a mysterious non-meeting are desolate ones unspoken phrases, silent words.
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Today I have so much to do: I must kill memory once and for all, I must turn my soul to stone, I must learn to live again. Unless ... Summer's ardent rustling is like a festival outside my window.
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Mary Magdalene beat her breasts and sobbed, His dear disciple, stone-faced, stared. His mother stood apart. No other looked into her secret eyes. Nobody dared.
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It was a time when only the dead smiled, happy in their peace.
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No foreign sky protected me, no stranger's wing shielded my face. I stand as witness to the common lot survivor of that time, that place.
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But Fear and the Muse in turn guard the place Where the banished poet has gone And the night that comes with quickened pace Is ignorant of dawn.
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I go forth to seek To seek and claim the lovely magic garden Where grasses softly sigh and Muses speak.
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Wild honey smells of freedom The dust - of sunlight The mouth of a young girl, like a violet But gold - smells of nothing.
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A loss, but who still mourns the breath of one woman, or laments one wife? Though my heart never can forget, how, for one look, she gave up her life.
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Poems are my link with the times, with the new life of my people.
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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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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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If I can't have love, if I can't find peace, / Give me a bitter glory.
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There is a sacred, secret line in loving which attraction and even passion cannot cross.
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Your voice is wild and simple. You are untranslatable Into any one tongue.
Anna Akhmatova
