Author of quotes: Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok. Page 3

There are times, there are days when
The snow wind will burst into the heart,
And not a gentle voice will save.
Not a serene hour of work...
A frightened and wild bird
You fly, but the dawn in - blood ...
Longing, passion, fire
There is a mad love...
It's dark, and fun, and stuffy,
And, gasping, not breathing,
Already in everything else obedient
Hitherto proud soul!

It's erring. With God! Home!
Bells are posyaking.
You're cold pressing my lips
Their silver rings,
And I - for the time in a row -
Whole rings, not hands...

And more - mortal melancholy.

Looking into the cold and polar circle.

Crazy violins and spring

Everything is like a ghost, everything is like delirium.

From an enchanted distance?

There is a fire for a fire to break out!

I'm nailed to the tavern counter.
I've been drunk for a long time. I don't care.
Out of my happiness on the troika
In the ribbed smoke carried away...

Good in a wide range of meadows
In a fiery dance to pass,
Drinking wine, laughing with a sweet friend
And patterned wreaths to weave,
Give flowers to other people's friends,
Passion, sadness, happiness to withdraw, -
But more worthy behind a heavy plow
In fresh dew in the morning to go!

Glaring into the mirror of shadows

Life in fleeting little things!

On the impenetrable horror of life
Open your eyes, open your eyes,
While the great thunderstorm
Everything is not bold in your homeland.

Yes. This is how inspiration dictates:
My Free Dream
Everything is poured to where the humiliation is,
Where is the dirt, and the darkness, and the poverty.
There, there, humble, below, -
From there, the visible world is different...