Author of quotes: Apollon Aleksandrovich Grigoryev

No, pray for you,I could not
Holding a wreath above thy head.
Do I, or simply fainted,
You now say, I don't know -
But for you to pray I could not.

There's an old song, a sad song one
And under the firmament of the heaven has long distributed it.
And silly old song - she's tired for a long time,
That song always sung sad about one thing.
About how to love each other - man and wife,
About how dutifully indulged her.
How often she was breathing hard and hot
Head scaneaza quietly on his shoulder.
And as God's world wide they seemed together,
And how difficult it was to leave then.
As he said: "Let you love it -
You do not couple each other", and, "You are a strange woman!"
And as it died away exhausted, lonely,
And she pined, as plucked from the root flower.
That silly song I know it by heart
But you can hear it on soul of hopeless sadness.

There are days... tired and broken
My soul the fire hidden under the ashes,
Hopes, desires will break out... Again
Sick chest high to rise,
And tremble, and feel ready
And tears With them... sorry to part,
So good and sweet these tears,
So hard to believe in pipe dreams.

You I'm waiting, I'm waiting for you,
Sister Harith, a friend of graces;
You said: "I will come
Under the mysterious canopy of Acacias".

Oh, tell me,
The seven-stringed friend!
Soul full of such longing,
And night, is the moon!

The evening is sultry, the wind howls,
Howls of the yard dog;
Heart aches, aches, aches,
Like tooth the patient.
The sky misty gray,
The air is so condensed...
The whole breath of cholera,
Death he breathes.

Blessing be upon thee,
Protective cover of the saints of the heavenly powers,
Stay forever that pure star,
Which the beam I the darkness of the soul lit.
I was already aware of the veracity of the sentence,
Uttered a punishing fate
Over a stormy life, not devoid of reproach, -
Rightly under the sword bowed his head.
Reasonable strict court, and screams are useless,
I'm old as sin, and you, as a happy, young,
I've passed all the corruption of the abyss
And you have light, and your life is clean.

You were born to torment me -
And it gently-a cool,
And projdennomu free
And the fact that it is difficult to understand you
The fact that a lot of cursing
I necessarily shall with you
Then it's silly for me to be silent
And it's hard to play with words.
You were born to torment me,
Zane each other we are strangers.
And anything other
Won't tell you, I can't say.

Pushkin - is our all.

For You I watch for a long time
With hot, sincere participation,
And believe that You will be given
Not many slave happiness.
Only save, I pray,
The purity of the beautiful soul
And Outlook on life is simple and clear,
All that I love You!

I know myself that would be criminal
Recognition or sense deprived:
Then, to me you are unavailable
Unreachable Paradise for Satan.

I love you... what to do - guilty!
I'm thirty years foolish heart young,
That each of your random, a quick look
I sometimes fever and cold...
And in this you will have to forgive me,
Moreover, to say no to love
Can not power on no light;
The more so as, tormented and burning,
Not a word I dare say
And forced to be silent, be silent, be silent!..

I don't love her, I don't.
It's the power of habit random!
But why the alarm mystery
I look at her, catch her speech?
<...>
Why - and itself I will not understand -
Me when it has something bittersweet,
Why I tremble involuntarily,
If you hand her a goodbye shake?
<...>
And in a hurry to see a lot, and greedily catching
Melodically-cute, children's speech;
Why I am afraid and waiting for her meeting?..
After all, its not like I swear not to love.