Author of quotes: Anna Akhmatova. Page 1

Happy the one who walked among the suffering,
Among the anxieties and passions of life noisy
Like a rose that blooms thoughtlessly,
And easier water traveling shadows.

After wind and frost was
Any of my warm fire.
There for the heart I do not see,
And it was stolen from me.
New year's celebration lasts magnificently
Wet the stems of Christmas roses
And in my breast have not heard
Flutter of dragonflies.
Ah! not hard to guess me a thief
I recognized him by the eyes.
Just so terrible that soon
He will return to his prey for himself.

The poet is always right.

Poetry, even the greatest, do not make the author happy.

Dostoevsky did not know the whole truth about evil. He believed that if you killed the old rastovich, then the rest of your life you are gnawing pangs of conscience and, in the end, you confess, and you get sent to Siberia. And we know that in the morning it is possible to shoot ten or fifteen people, and in the evening, after returning home, lather her head because of her bad haircut.

We, the poets, the people are naked, we see everything, so we need to ensure that we looked decent.

The worse this century?..
The worse this century prior? Is
The fact that Chad sorrows and anxieties
He touched the black plague,
To heal her but could not?
Even in the West the earthly sun shines,
And roof cities in its rays burn...
And here too, white house crosses marks
And calling the ravens, and the crows fly.

Something to fear, that happens. Nothing to fear is not necessary.

I came to live, still not starting.

All the places where I grew up and lived in my youth no longer exist: Tsarskoye Selo, Sevastopol, Kiev, Slepnevo, Hungerburg (Ust-Narva).
Survived - the city (because he is eternal), Paris - for someone's negligence and St. Petersburg-Leningrad, where it was to lay his head. Sheltered what was left of me in 1950, Moscow was a nice abode for my almost posthumous existence.

But don't try to keep
You from heaven:
Convicted and know this for yourself -
We waste rather than save.

And these fools need
The full consciousness of victory,
Than friendship, light conversation...

As far as hiding the person scene, so ruthlessly strips the stage. Estrada is something like a slaughterhouse.

Somewhere cats plaintive meow,
The sound of footsteps in the distance I catch...
Well your words lull:
The third month I don't sleep.
You again, me again, insomnia!
Fixed your face know.
What beauty, what bezzakonie,
Is it bad I'm singing?
Window cloth white completed
Twilight shines blue...
Or long news we comforted?
Why am I so easily to you?