Book: Diaries 1933-1940
All the love like water, everyone takes from it much as you can scoop up her bucket. Come to the water with a bucket, to love with the soul. There are buckets bigger and smaller, and soul! That's because everything is different and understand the love that each holds a number and its says. I, my friends, I want to tell you about all the love, as if I had come to the ocean shore. So that's why all are so stupid when they talk about love: it is because of love they say only to the extent of their experience. We are talking about the ocean, and they each say only that he could scoop up his personal vessel. Go, my friends, to shore up his personal federicco to the ocean, clasp my hands to his chest, as he put in his childhood in prayer, and to the ocean, burning in evening rays, childish whisper of his own.
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MegaMozg 28-03-2018 / 07:41
Poetry is like love - a phenomenon of talent and talent from God. That is why neither poetry nor love can't do with the property. Certainly the man who created himself in poetry or in love fetish, is a drama that was in love josé (Carmen), in the poetry Unit. In short, talent is a way, but not the essence. And if the entity is God, then substitute it a fetish begets property, but property is always resolved drama.
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MegaMozg 28-03-2018 / 07:40
Hygiene of love is to not look at the other ever side and never judge it with someone. As long as I don't know how to use these rules, that time I now feel as if I had no soap, no towels, and I went unwashed.
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MegaMozg 28-03-2018 / 07:37
Don't know if she loves as I want, and I love it as it should, but our attention to each other is extraordinary, and the spiritual life moving forward not clove, not two, but one turn of the lever on all the gear. <...> How fortunate to be elected: after all, many different people were, and asking, and knowing your "no", went into Oblivion. But I came, and I ocotillos "Yes", and among the many invited I was the chosen one. And how many also and passed and passed and only got my "Yes" was chosen, and we both elected without wine drunk and luxuriate in talking. I like to get living water from a deep well of her spirit, and because of this, I find, open some according to this depth, and the person becomes beautiful to me. Also her face in my eyes, always changing, always worried, like a star.
Quote Explanation: In 1940, at the age of 67 years, Michael Prishvin left the family and remarried. His wife was Valeria Dmitrievna Liorca, in the first marriage - Lebedev, who was his Junior by 26 years. They lived together for 14 years.
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MegaMozg 28-03-2018 / 07:32
V. D. Lebedev. I confessed to her in his sense, whom fear, directly asked:
- And if you fall in love?
And I calmly replied:
- All depends on the form of expression from the person to whom the feeling is directed - the person must be smart.
The answer is remarkably accurate and clear, I was very happy.
We had prebestowal incessantly 4 PM to 11 PM. <...>
To me that is all and is considered at all in common, and because they do not notice. And to me it comes as happiness.
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MegaMozg 28-03-2018 / 07:28
Oh, how vulgarized French is "Look for the woman! "Meanwhile, this says that in the depths of all art only a woman, and if not her, then there is no art, no poetry, only prose. The woman is the hearth of art and the artist further away from the source, the more prosaic it.
№ 321195 Added
MegaMozg 28-03-2018 / 07:26
Grabbed me the Blues today that the hole in my soul, cracked something in it, and there, in the crack, drip my time. Trying for something to grab, for others, nothing work apart and nothing can seal my slit. And so it hurts me that life is invisible, and I don't know where to stretch my hand to anything previsits to the bandwagon to the buffer or to the trunk.
№ 321192 Added
MegaMozg 28-03-2018 / 07:23
That is not terrible, the one who lives by your feelings and agree with them with the mind: this is the person we all should be. And terrible, who bypassed his natural passion, the cold mind and the fire of his soul was locked in the walls of his mind.
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MegaMozg 28-03-2018 / 07:19
Wrote a short story for young children "Duckling-stahanovets". The extraordinary difficulty of these stories is to achieve glubinki or naivety of the medium, the only in which alone can float the slag of thought.
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MegaMozg 28-03-2018 / 05:45
Can't tell you about how I'm going after North showed up at our birch forest with high flourishing grass: this happiness has come. And when happiness comes and go words. Do you know the love when you yourself from it there is nothing now and never will be, and you still love through it all around and go on the field and the meadow and pick up a colourful one to one, blue cornflowers, scented with honey, and blue forget-me-nots.
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MegaMozg 28-03-2018 / 05:34
One time when I was in the woods, was the sun, strewn with snow and spruce forest at a clearing was before well... Here it is so beautiful that I want something to do and then recorded it in the book, happens before beautiful that never comes to record, and only want to live, and this precisely is the real happiness!
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MegaMozg 28-03-2018 / 05:25
Knocking at the gate. I'm from the vents:
- Who's there?
Slim female or child's voice:
This is liter... ATOR?
I asked:
The Writer Prishvin?
Answer:
I'll have to check.
And, apparently, reads the note:
Komsomol, 85, house Prishvin, Liter ATOR.
Go down, open the gate. Included in the yard is a hefty girl.
- You Liter ATOR? she asked.
- I myself.
And she invited me to read on the evening of Karkala at ICC.
- I do not know - I said - do not even understand what it means to Cortrol.
- Comrade ATOR, - she asked, - how come you don't know: Curral is a course of rabbit production.
Such here there are misunderstandings with the layoffs constantly.
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MegaMozg 28-03-2018 / 05:12
