Author of quotes: Bakhyt Kenzheev Scrollevent

It is time, my friend, it's time. I Pushkin leaf.
The fourth hour of the morning. Elegy the sixth.
Wince, smoke and exhale familiar:
my sorrow is muddy and inarticulate night.
Yelling in the dream widow, the wedding jester crying,
snowdrop pleases and then fade,
play rainbow stains of oil
puddles of the city. What are you whining now
ungrateful slave? Whom you so deeply
jealous? Who light and lonely?

When with doubt and shame
you will return to the fold,
reluctantly surrendering to the mercy of
last, my mortal friend, -
wakes up, realizing all of a sudden,
that's not just changed.
a - forever.

If we can calm down -
you know where and when.
"Grind". "I want-prickly".
"Try". "Not worth the effort".

Birthplace, how long you're at the mercy
geeks gave up and languished
on my knees? As you trampled
world-Judas-capital!

Ease as historians,
Rake the dusty darkness
in the past to wander. Better to the exhibition
electronic novelties go
where science easily and meaningfully
silicone heart in his hand,
an Albatross soars duralumin.
Computer razortail, singing
and shines, and thoughtful glow
child admires people -
the mortal captivity and treated.
more fun in our abyss hanging,
hoping that the color of humanity
in the world make up the network.

and the red and white sleeping sleeping
tossing and turning in my sleep farting
but the white kind of dinosaur
and red (chorus thunders) killed
not just for new life
the dazzling tomorrow
he sees a future where
do not cook porridge on the water
science has won the hunger
and old age is closely in the clouds
from the airships the fear of death
eradicated where every pure and young

When the civil war
not take prisoners, damn
and distraught children
pharmacists other children
peasants and factory doctors
shot at dawn.

When the Blues, at the hour of dark blue
where, you know, Hamming moon curve,
will fly on the ice of the Neva river beauty
in a ringing electric tram.
Black banging of metal on metal.
Self-pity suddenly secret
burst into tears because so tired
even sanatorium to no avail.

It's no wonder my mother taught
and knowingly continues wife
to assure that the verbal force
in our days not really needed
Not Alchi same sublime food
take care better about
the dust does not fly in the house,
languished toe under the table.

Or indeed real - just a quote from an unknown?

Like pomegranate on the branch, the choicest the world to which you're attracted to
only love, as he smiled to poor Brodsky.