Author of quotes: Elena Schwartz

As thread waxed,
Toy with Christmas tree tied
How soaked with resin they
As matted needles -
So I'm chained to you,
Glued forever.

The earthquake generations
I notice and see lazy,
when drifting ships
in the heat of a Sunny day.

Don't know about others, but I
The world on the shoulder.

How embarrassing to grow old -
I don't know why
I vow not given
Not to go into the darkness of night,
Not to slip away into the darkness of the basement,
Yourself gray hair shining,
I imagine not promised
That'll be childish.
But all are embarrassing me unwittingly,
The fading is obvious.
I know why it hurts
But why so embarrassed, ashamed?

How diverse the world outside, as if the honour of the Creator on a huge beach, no two grains of sand alike. They can't be, I'm sure. But the world peace and, of course, is much less diverse spiritual, the feelings and the pain is almost the same and spiritual experiences - they go up the road, the route which is Holy well known. That is, sunesta, the closer to the unit.

Don't betray me body insidious -
This assemblage of scrupulous swear,
Is atoms a flock of evil,
This is the right Bredow meeting.
Maybe more-maybe more, and come to their senses
and the circle goes again.
Will not betray me Veche crimson
blood noisy, will not betray.
And the soul as a "divine wind"
Hurtling over the sea, not looking back,
to throw in someone else
the body is rented.

Music! In addition to her light
there is nothing
waves her jump children
and the fish in it.
Who will be saved? Everyone will drown
remember, the sink will sing.
Music developed in swaddling clothes
wet and angry baby goes.

Here soon, that's
well, for once, trust -
the sea will soon blossom
before our death.
It will rise a flower
on the stem of waves and foam.
And, perhaps, will be higher
all other terrestrial plants.
<...>
Oh, learn to weave words to the blind is a crazy language
as the Lord, of salt and water.

At home our door tonight hurts.
It floats in the spring, the harsh and fragile.
And the snow still crunches like
bones
cannibals crack in a garbage pit.
Looking at the sky a flock of puddles black-and-blue
quiet the eyes of orphans and dumb.
Sharpened from the moon rays
hundreds of blue knives.

My separateness tired.
B to dissolve the effervescent tablet in the water!
To throw absurdly bipedal body
To be everywhere and nowhere,
All and none - not one of these,
Similar to the roots of mandragor,
And not to fly, braking as children
Foot, with low mountains.

You're going to die - really, really?
Who proved?
Other hands will touch
Your eyes.
And not to pour light out
Not to
Just quietly whispering earth
Your ore.
And death will throw the knee
Shawl or scarf
And now - for all you tie,
He plunged his hook.

People bordered the sea,
He is a stranger to all the country,
In it wander the rivers, mountains,
Murmuring tribes
There are hidden ore, animals,
Smoldering city
But when he looks to the point -
Drowning, drowning forever.
People bordered the sea,
But not all and not always
Tremble mind, the flood will begin
Rush of the dark water.

In my opinion, the most important feeling for an artist is not to have a sense of scale. The dropping of the traditional measures, the space must be instinctive in the blood.

Strange right now. From the school - a sense of delirium, like a dream in a nightmare. Sometimes the feeling of nothingness. Sometimes, like cold and warm winds collided in me, and the column of air whirling in the shower.