Author of quotes: Sophia Yakovlevna Parnok

You don't know how to be trusting:
Closed dull and and about.
Imagination docarchive
Signs of your face.
You were quiet, unpretentious,
As rows of your timid system.
And all that in my heart I vzleleivayut,
You used seemed to be a fuss.

The hotter the blood, the heart is colder
Not love you, - hot blood.
I'm in eternity, the promise of love,
Missing too many days.

And the darkness - like a shadow from the light,
And light - like the reflection of darkness.
Was there a day? And night is it?
Don't sleep if someone's vague we?
Look at all seeing eye
And as my rest strangely quiet
Look at your mouth, which
Seal kisses are not mine.

The latest from loneliness
farewell prayer, not prophecy
hail you, the youths another way:
only for the poet commandment
in the East and in the West,
in the North and the South
not to beat
brow
century way,
But to be
brow century
his -
to be a man.

Today in the sky day Popasna
Your oblately beam claimed.
Hospitable squarely
Emptying in prossedi birches.
In the bushes of Acacias, the crunch - to say:
Dry snap pods.
But too strange quiet estate
Hearts and loud quakes...
Yes, this fall - autumn twice!
That leaves, rustling
Leaf whispers to everyone
Repeats the tired soul.

With deserts coming
Bells.
On the field, heart
Shadow swam.
Hour before evening
In the quiet the edge.
With the tree met
I'm talking about.
Bird whistle
Listens to soul.
So would I light
Quietly passed.

Right now I'm whisper - Gazali,
I breath pour in you want gazely.
Ah, in tune with my obsession - gazaly!
You see, don't you dare stop loving - Gazali.
Blooms in the winter spring Gazeley,
Will awaken the dead from sleep - Gazali,
Haunting, Kolobrodov old hops gazely, -
I will sing to you, my Gazelle, Gazeley!

A great time was!
I was approaching the twentieth year.
Diamond parabola
poured water cannon.
Fluff falls from poplar
in the morning around the fountain
stomped in the alley kids
and the world was neobyatnoy, and doves,
and in the sky the pigeon pigeons allowed...
And life is not weighed more,
than the poplar down, -
scary and fun was breathtaking!

From death there's no hurry, after all- in a hurry.
"Once, once, once" knocks stunned step.
Bawl song recruits, stepping on the pavement, and once, once, once, my friend, and we are with you.
We ran to the tram in the square and catch his breath, as a downtrodden horse, which is beaten with a whip.
We are running obsessed, not asking, not grieving, by people and by, by themselves.
A famine talkative and moan a bunch of rags us, silent, following.
The body to old age infirm, what bread to buy it and disappear on the mountain there.

He walks with a woman in a bright, -
Told me.
My house is open to all winds,
All the winds.
They - lovers music -
At nine in the Kurhaus.
The camp of her smooth narrow
So narrow...
I see misty shore,
In the hour of Compline,
Shore, the hills and the Heather,
And Heather.
And close with a wide felt
White feathers...
Heart is open to the winds,
All the winds!

Ends my day on earth.
Meet the evening, without confusion,
And the past in front of me
I do not cast a shadow -
The long shadow that his
A helpless tongue-tied,
From all the other shadows in the difference
We future his name.

"Be happy in whatever became..."
Yes, my friend, my happiness was in life!
Now the deadly fatigue
And eyes and soul I will close their.
Here too, not rebelling, not opposing,
Yes, I can hear heart beats a retreat,
I grow weaker and weaker tether,
Hard we vasava with you.
Here the wind blows freely up, up,
All in color, and quiet all around, -
Goodbye, my friend! Didn't you hear?
I leave you, far-friend.

I don't like churches where the architect
More audible God says
Where's the genius in a dispute with the will of the father
It is not lost, it is not fused.
<...>
How delightful softly
On a smooth sky smooth you
He flashed me the blessed San Marco,
Podjela thin crosses.
<...>
Five domes of yours as the waves of the...
Their smooth power raised,
My soul Cup is full,
To the edge of God is poured.

Love you in your space I
And in each binding groove.
Let Europe have a history, -
But Russia: life.
At that time, as spiritual architecture
Torturing the West the light of the mind,
It's in the great loneliness
Coming to Christ in herself.