Author of quotes: Alexander Petrovich Mezhirov

I love music, but I don't know what it is.

Father, I remember on the Swan lane.
He was a man of great knowledge. And great modesty.

Me to imitate is easy, my verse common
Straight and nearly straight,
Not rich in nuances, and yet,
And despite that he is only mine.

We're almost half a century lived.
I was - nothing. But she was
A zealous collector of dust
Small knick-knacks without number, -
And there were indeed many
But even that in it I was captivated.

For the reason empty and nariyan home
That under the law the two sides of the same coin
I let you too close, and then
You are too fast for me, friends, tired.

And it seemed to be sad for no reason
But as soon as they hear the melody,
Like burns, torch burns, -
Heart drops terrified.
That sadness will not kill, will not calms,
Will not part, will remain in captivity.
Only hear, only to hear -
Sing barely audible start.
And not subject to pride,
Detached from worldly Affairs,
Hear as did not hear until now,
And love, how to love didn't know how.

Man lives in this world.
Don't know. It's not that.
I lie in a ditch zeroed,
He is with frost in the warm part of the house.

Something rashelo at pack forest
The world of human existence.
A flock of yours, like all the others,
This random pack of yours.

They were separated when
Shame her forever
She decided to accept.
Decided I'm guilty
Not husband, not lover, not brother,
And that itself was comforting.

I wrote poems old-fashioned,
Was obscure and honest, suddenly
It has become fashionable of all that unfashionable,
And I got in a sketchy circle.
All my antediluvian blizzards,
Rhyme like "war" and "countries"
Was in a questionable circle
Young scholars of antiquity.

In the front of fashion proterty lie
And don't try to rise from the ashes.
Now the fashion has gone on Kizhi
For the icons, and on Bach.

Fashion goes important around the world,
Meaning that all disappeared
Unselfish, keen interest
To nature, to birthright, to the subject.

Since ancient times everyone in business: this builds
That destroys - to each his own.
And this thing is not worth a penny:
Led pen, record and all.

For many years, and winters
Varied interest in my poetry.
Then appeared, then not been exhausted, -
The reader went out and came back.