Author of quotes: Dmitry Sergeyevich Merezhkovsky

And doomed to love.

So that He teaches the heart not to love.

Nobody wants to be a slave.

Nor to love infinitely.

Screams and curses only prove powerlessness.

Not to blame anybody for anything:
Who's pride could not win,
He will be forever alone
Who loves to be a slave.
Striving for bliss and goodness,
Dragging weary days,
We are all alone, always alone:
I lived alone, and one dies.
In the pale glass window
Went out in the evening twilight.-
Love will teach one death
Everything for which there is no return.

With a smile of dispassion
You life bless:
We do not need for happiness
No glory, no love,
But the buds are sweet
Need, and heaven,
And haze pubescent
Transparent forest.

I am a stranger and have little faith
I virtue of the earth:
Inoyu measure of life I meyrueis
Other aimless beauty.

Mercy I pray! Don't torture me, Spring,
Don't come near me with a painful affection
And hearts don't Wake the dead from sleep
Their infant, but touching tale.

There is no hope and no fear.
The filled Cup over the edge.
Your forgiveness is worse than execution
Destiny. Executions me goodbye.
I'm glad all conquered.
The nights of the last stopped crying.
My path, the underground, black -
And there, where is the exit, waiting for the executioner.

There is no hope and no fear.
The filled Cup over the edge.
Your forgiveness is worse than execution
Destiny. Executions me goodbye.
I'm glad all conquered.
The nights of the last stopped crying.
My path, the underground, black -
And there, where is the exit, waiting for the executioner.

You need some extraordinary, a great rush to save the beauty and art from the barbarism and vulgarity of positive and complacent stupidity, which are now upon us.

Try to put aside our modern magazines, read for a long time only foreign books and the great Russian writers of the past generation, then immediately open the latest issue of modern Newspapers - you'll be amazed, you will cover spoilt the atmosphere, ugly neologisms, savagery and vulgarity of language, especially in the small press, like the free air you enter the room, where strong bad smell.

Reason and madness were born together.