Author of quotes: Bulat Okudzhava. Page 1

Happy is the one whose path is short,
fingers are angry, bow oster,
musician who built
from the soul of my fire.
And the soul, that's for sure,
if burned,
Fairer, more merciful
and it is more righteous.

Well, if in Portland no return,
Let the merchant was trembling from fear.
Neither God nor the devil will help
Him to save their ships.
When gates we're in Portland
I swear, I'll run up on the chopping block.
Yes, only in Portland to come back
We don't have never.

When gates we're in Portland
We will take the Motherland in the open arms.
Yes, only in Portland to come back
We don't have never.

We lived for today, not waiting for the future nothing but petty mischief.

"Tomorrow" - what a malicious concept, and crowded void! How much hope it gives birth to the human race, does not result endowing.

We do not live, but only hope to live.

States are dying, because they do not know how to distinguish good people from bad.

What a strange thing: total Eclipse, if infinitely long fall into the dark well and feel close to sepulchral damp stone walls, but you know, I'm sure hitting them is impossible, and there is no bottom, and is painless, safe fall forever, and the breathtaking, eerie and joyful.

I wanted to cry just like a child, curled up, unwise to sob, to wail, to whine, even without the hope that someone will snuggle up with a warm palm.

Sorry infantry, so foolish is she
We always go when on the ground, raging spring.
And the wrong step at the stairs is shaky - there is no salvation.
Only white willow as the white sisters, look at you, like...

You teach love, Arbat,
And then - on our business.

Receipts for the rifles we took the clerks
but share chose ourselves.

The longer we live, the years shorter
The sweeter the voices of friends,
Ah, but it had not stopped under the arc bell,
Her eyes looked into her eyes.
The beach, the sea, the sun the Blizzard,
The swallows the crows,
Two eternal roads - love and parting -
Pass through my heart...

If I had two lives, would one devote to vain regrets and grief. But she was alone.