Author of quotes: Pyotr Andreyevich Vyazemsky. Page 1

For some to love the Fatherland means to cherish and be proud of Karamzin, Zhukovsky, Pushkin and the like, and the like. For others to love Motherland means to love and stay benckendorff, Chernysheva, the Kleinmichel and other and other things. If he does not love the Fatherland, who grieves for lean measures of the government, and loves the one who indulges thought, conscience and action of all the nonsense and protivozanosnoy people in authority? You can demand obedience, but not to require consent.

A woman's heart is a dark book; as, neither read nor re-read it in different and numerous publications, and is not decidesse. Everything seems to be going and reads simply, suddenly there are surprises, such improbability that time cut: a dead end, and turned upside down all previous tests and acquired data.

Here you and I: like roses sweet,
Bloom you a sense of beauty;
I cypress gloomy and dull,
Years and raised a storm.
And my recollection your
Like her, fresh fragrance,
With him the soul of the fun will be more beautiful,
When it is soul gratifying to suffer.
When you srostetsya, and accidentally
In clear days you see a rainy day -
Let my memory secretly
Something will come to you as a cypress shade.

Languishing anxiety of my heart,
Nameless sorrow!
I could not help waiting for something,
I something vaguely sorry.
Not want and can not
I entertain my spleen:
I cherish his melancholy,
As his love for his sister.
<...>
Children of mystery and humility
Guests of my heart
Be without charity
And not asking for anything.
The victim of the sweet disease
They are familiar for a long time,
They cherish each other
And grieve at the same time.
No one prigolubit
Nothing will heal...
See: the Blues, all loves,
And love is always depressed.

The Sphinx who remained an Enigma to the grave,
About it now and argue again;
Love it, murmured, anger,
And in anger, warm love.
A child of the eighteenth century,
His passions he was a victim:
And despised man,
And mankind loved.

I'm not a person to joke, don't like to laugh
It's gonna be me by illness.
Why, obsolete, alive I pretend to be?
Painful my laughter all the tears of my sad.

For a nice meeting, following on the path of life
How often the day of loss and separation.
And where the youth will exclaim: bye!
There old age says a sad sorry.

Endless Russia
Like eternity on earth!
Going, going, going, going,
Days and miles of nothing.
Sink time and space
In the immensity of yours.
Steppe widely in the open
Across and along lies
Like a fiery sea
Heat radiates down.
<...>
Sad! But you sad this
Do not bring sin and revile not:
Her soul warmed
Holy glimmer of love.
The steppe bare, dumb,
You and song, and honor!
You are all mother Russia,
What is she no there!

"Sorry, I'm not drunk, and then would slap that son of a bitch" - said one offended, but a sober sage.

Compared I fear with pike. Who loves her, the backwaters in a pond, but know that it will consume all other fish. Who wants fear, bring him on in the heart of the subject, but remember that it will absorb all other feelings.

Women rule, rule over us, but what? His weaknesses that we attract and fascinate.

You can steal a brilliant idea, a happy expression; but the fever of the soul, but the secret dominate the feelings of others hearts not stolen.

Our poetry shoot better than the Ludwig Philip: that's the second time, do not give a miss.

We autocracy means that in Russia all by itself holds.