Author of quotes: Sergey Alexandrovich Yesenin. Page 2

Go away quickly,
Let me relax a bit
Or not hear I cry
A life of repentance before God?

He sits in the cramped attic,
Candle candle grates on the eyes
And the pencil in his hand
Leads him in secret conversations.
He wrote the song of sad thoughts,
He catches the heart a shadow of its former.
And this mental noise... noise...
Will carry it tomorrow for the ruble.

He pale. Imagine a terrible way.
In his heart live vision.
The impact of life hammered chest
As cheek drank a doubt.
Tufts downed hair
The high brow is wrinkled,
But clear dreams its beauty
Burning in elaborate paintings.

Hamlet rebelled against the lies,
Which boiled Royal court.
But if he now lived,
That would be a thug and a thief.
Because human life
This is also the yard,
If not king, of the cattle.

The gift of the poet and fondle karyabat,
Fatal print on it.
The white rose with black toad
I wanted to marry in the land.

Many in Russia
Trails.
Whatever the path is
Then the coffin.
Every mile away -
The cross.

Nothing! I tripped on a rock,
It is to zavtremu all heal.

Let you drunk others
But I left, I left
Your hair glass smoke
And autumn eye fatigue.

You're not so you're going to fight,
Heart, touched by chill...

And now I hurt won't.
Cleared omuti in the heart of the misty.
Because I had the reputation of a charlatan,
Because I had the reputation of a brawler.

I Moscow naughty playboy.
Around the Tver district
In the alleys of every dog
Knows my easy gait.
Each bedraggled horse
Nodding his head towards me.
For animals man I'm good
Every verse my spirit beast heals.
I go in the cylinder not for women
In my foolish heart passion to live is not in force, -
It comfortable, reducing their sadness,
Gold oats to give the Mare.

I'm fooling myself I won't
Lay care in the heart of the misty.
Why I had the reputation of a charlatan?
Why I was known as a brawler?
Not a villain I didn't Rob the forest
Not shot by accident in the dungeons.
I just hung street,
Smiling counter people.

Cherry scented,
Razveselili, worth
While herbs Golden
The sun is burning.
Stream wave of explosive
All branches splash
And smoothly under the cooler
She sings songs.

Cherry scented
With spring blossomed
And Golden branches,
The curls curled.
Circle dew honeydew
Slide crust,
Under her greens spicy
Shining in silver.
And next, the protalinki,
In the grass, between the roots,
Running, flowing little
Silver Creek.