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Once in 1919, when I was traveling at night by train, I wrote a short story. In the town where the train stopped, I took the story to the publisher of the newspaper who published the story.

Mikhail Bulgakov

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Mikhail Bulgakov
Age: 48 †
Born: 1891
Born: May 15
Died: 1940
Died: March 10
Actor
Biographer
Journalist
Librettist
Novelist
Physician
Physician Writer
Playwright
Satirist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Kiev
Mikhael Bulgakov
Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov
Train
Published
Short
Newspaper
Took
Traveling
Story
Stopped
Night
Town
Stories
Newspapers
Towns
Publisher
Wrote
Publishers

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Don't be afraid, Queen ... don't be afraid, Queen, the blood has long since gone into the earth. And where it was spilled, grapevines are already growing.
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Difficult folk, these women!
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A dog's spirit dies hard.
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Well, as everyone knows, once witchcraft gets started, there's no stopping it.
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This twenty-year-old boy was distinguished from childhood by strange qualities, a dreamer and an eccentric. A girl fell in love with him, and he went and sold her to a brothel.
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Allow me to inquire how man can control his own affairs when he is not only incapable of compiling a plan for some laughably short term such as, say, a thousand years, but cannot even predict what will happen to him tomorrow?
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But what can be done, the one who loves must share the fate of the who is loved.
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Yes, man is mortal, but that would be only half the trouble. The worst of it is that he's sometimes unexpectedly mortal—there's the trick!
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You are not Dostoevsky,' said the woman... 'You never can tell...' he answered. 'Dostoevsky is dead,' the woman said, a bit uncertainly. 'I protest!' he said with heat, 'Dostoevsky is immortal!
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Remove the document—and you remove the man.
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There is no greater misfortune in the world than the loss of reason.
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Most bad, the host concluded. If you ask me, something sinister lurks in men who avoid wine, games, the company of lovely women, and dinnertime conversation. Such people are either gravely ill or secretly detest everyone around them.
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The procurator studied the new arrival with avid, and slightly fearful eyes. It was the kind of look one gives someone one has heard of and thought a lot about, and whom one is meeting for the first time.
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Manuscripts do not burn.
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Cowardice was undoubtedly one of the most terrible vices - thus spoke Yeshua Ha-Nozri. 'No, philosopher, I disagree with you: it is the most terrible vice!
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If it is true that cowardice is the most grave vice, then the dog, at least, is not guilty of it.
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You should never ask anyone for anything. Never- and especially from those who are more powerful than yourself.
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Actually, I do happen to resemble a hallucination. Kindly note my silhouette in the moonlight. The cat climbed into the shaft of moonlight and wanted to keep talking but was asked to be quiet. Very well, I shall be silent, he replied, I shall be a silent hallucination.
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The darkness that had come in from the Mediterranean covered the city so detested by the procurator.
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You pronounced your words as if you don’t acknowledge the shadows, or the evil either. Would you be so kind as to give a little thought to the question of what your good would be doing if evil did not exist, and how the earth would look if the shadows were to disappear from it?
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