Author of quotes: Pavel Kogan

The song will help out one.

All my possibilities lie.

Take that word,
Squeeze, thicken.
Let it go downwind like smoke.
Take it and let it go like a butterfly
The light of a lonely star.
For a moment
Your palms
Someone else's heat will be taken.
Happiness always goes to two
And never alone.

And she didn't know me.

So let it be bitter and rewarded.
Descendants will say about me:
"He lived. He thought. I fell a often.
But he didn't change the century."

A month because of the clouds of the face stuck out ...
And I think I'm excited and tired.
Oh, how little, in fact, written,
Oh, how much - in fact, he wrote!

Again, the month hangs a scimitar,
The wind burns the sheet.
Early in the morning of the Zurbagan
Ships sail in Liss.
Cypress waves to the shore.
The skipper, believing all the gods
Quite seriously believes,
That the world is Zurbagan.
And go sail to the West,
Across the sea and through the verse
That heavy smell of magnolias
A sad song to convey.
When burns Rowan,
Circling in the wind the yellow leaf,
We will raise a glass for the green
And quietly cheers Liss.

So tell me gentle something
Girl my good.
Pink clouds and sky
Sail away to distant lands.
Float away. How I envy them!
Cute funny clouds.
Rise. Coat wear. Will I
To see how the sky burned sunset.
And go crooked alleys,
A little Smoking and Pyle.
Will smell the rain and rolls,
Rustle about something poplar
The wind will whistle, and in the same tone
Just start to podsvetit me.
So tell me gentle something
Girl my good.

Captain unbuilt Brigs,
the chieftain of the uncreated freemen,
I say - enough!
Without hysterics. Sign the verdict.
Is your strength! What is there to argue.
Without hysterics! Without betting prowess.
I don't Xerxes, I don't flog the sea
and shoot to no avail I will not.
A representative of another tribe,
evil days in the loafers labeled,
I know from time to time
spread on men's shoulders.

And a little bit creepy
And a little bit weird
What seemed a joke,
Turned out to be a wound.
That seemed to wound
Turned out to be a joke...
And a little bit weird
And a little creepy.

Oblique, rapid corner
And the wind cutting her eyes,
Perelomova willow
For a land falling storm.
And thunder announcing spring
She rang on the grass,
With scope to knock out the door
In swiftness and toughness.
And down. To the precipice. Downhill.
To the water. To the arbor of hope,
Where so many wet clothes
Hopes and songs flowed.
Far, maybe, in territory,
Where my girl lives.
But, pines of peace series
High power swinging
Suddenly suffocated in the bushes
Fell a brood of young daws.
And the people came out of apartments,
Tired of dried up grass.
And again quiet.
And again the world.
As the indifference, like an oval.
I since the childhood did not love an oval!
I since the childhood angle to draw!

Autumn again is squares,
Maples old gilding,
Me again, in nothing believing
For a stranger to pass ways.
Me again, bit her lips,
No hope to wait for something,
Pretending to be funny and rude
To cry, to fight and to grieve.
And again, tired of the anxiety,
Smiling meekly, "Let",
To take over their roads,
Quiet, misty, longing and sadness.

Maybe we're rude.
Maybe it's baby dust...
I understand - it is impossible to forget
And I still forgot.
But words of contempt a little,
But the evil securenvoy lips
No matter how telling myself - "forget it!",
As you can see, I couldn't forget.

Spring over the puddles,
Sparrow in spring spinning
Icicle tearfully sokolitsa,
Buzzing spring-street.
Hey, heart, knock on spring!
Well knock, knock, shrew!
Death to all dull autumn!