Author of quotes: Osip Mandelstam. Page 3

That's something huge on the stairs is thin.

Sisters heaviness and tenderness, the same your description.
Bees and wasps suck the heavy rose.
People die. The warm sand is getting cold,
And yesterday the sun on the black stretcher carry.

Why are you complaining, poetry only respect we have for her kill. Because nowhere else in poetry do not kill...

The pupil in the heavenly crust
Facing away and down
Protect reservations
Weak cousy eyelashes.
He will be deified
Long to live in his native country
The maelstrom eye of a surprised -
Throw it after me.
He looks honestly
In a fleeting century
Bright, iridescent, ethereal,
Appealing yet.

Gumilev is our conscience.

And again, indifferent to the Fatherland
Wild duck unfurled reproach, -
I am involved in twilight of life,
Where one to one alone.

Uncreated worlds avenger whether, the artist -
The existence of the nonexistent forbid;
Misty cloud wrap your tripod
And shooting stars understand flying Paradise!

I am as poor as nature,
And as simple as heaven
And Ghost my freedom,
As the birds of the midnight voices.

I was scared life to live -
And from the tree like a leaf, shrinking,
Nothing to love,
And nameless stone to sink.

Having deprived me of seas, run and scattering
And giving the foot a focus of violent earth
What have you achieved? Brilliant calculation:
Lips moving to take you could not.

Yes, when I speak with someone - I don't know who I'm talking to and don't want, can't want to know him. There is no lyric without dialogue. And the only thing that pushes us into the arms of the interlocutor, is the desire to be surprised by his own words, be taken by their novelty and a surprise. The logic is inexorable. If I know the person I say I know how he would react to what I say, whatever I had, and therefore I will not be able to marvel at its wonder, to rejoice in his joy, to love with his love. The distance of separation blurs the features of a nice man. Only then I get the urge to tell him something important that I couldn't say when owned with his face in all its actual fullness. I will allow myself to formulate this observation is: a taste of soobscalasi is inversely proportional to our real knowledge of the source and is directly proportional to the desire of his interest. Not about the acoustics, you should take care: it will come of itself. Probably about distance. Bored to whisper with a neighbor. Infinitely tedious to drill your own soul. But to exchange signals with Mars - a task worthy of the lyrics, respect the interlocutor and aware of her wanton innocence. These two excellent quality of poetry closely related to the "huge size distance", which is supposed between us and the unknown friend to talk to.

Nothing to say,
Nothing should be taught
And sad and good
Dark beast soul:
Nothing wants to teach,
Does not know how to speak
And swims Dolphin young
In the gray depths of the world.

Oh, the pale wings of the Chimera
On rough gold sand
And sail the grey Shamrock,
Crucified, as my longing!

The music is gentle
My praises
And the waves love
The songs breakaway,
When I was there
Stretched hands,
Where and sounds
And the waves from
And twilight fabrics
Riddled body
In the glow of white
Your very ours?