Alexander Pushkin Quotes

"I am not in the position to sacrifice the essentials of life in the hope of acquiring the luxuries." -Pushkin

We’ve got to have forbidden fruit, Or Eden’s joys for us are moot.

في كل يوم .. في كل ساعة
صار عادة لي أن أقتفي أفكاري
أحصي عددها ومنه أخمن
أي سنة يأتي معها موتي
وفي أي مكان سوف يرسله القدر لي
هل في معركة .. أفي أسفاري
أم في البحار ؟
أو لعله الوادي القريب .. سيحتضن رماد جسدي البارد ؟
لا فرق لجسد هامد
في أي أرض فناؤه سيكون
لكن رغم ذاك ..
الى جوار بلادي الحبيبة أحب ان ارقد
ولتمرح الحياة اليانعة على الدوام
بالقرب من مرقدي
ولتشرق الطبيعة التي لاتمييز عندها بين البشر
بالجمال السرمدي

I loved you: and, it may be, from my soul
The former love has never gone away,
But let it not recall to you my dole;
I wish not sadden you in any way.

I loved you silently, without hope, fully,
In diffidence, in jealousy, in pain;
I loved you so tenderly and truly,
As let you else be loved by any man.

Confession

I love you – I love you, e’en as I
Rage at myself for this obsession,
And as I make my shamed confession,
Despairing at your feet I lie.
I know, I know – It ill becomes me,
I am too old, time to be wise …
But how? … This love – it overcomes me,
A sickness this in passion’s guise.
When you are near I’m filled with sadness,
When far, I yawn, for life’s a bore.
I must pour out this love, this madness,
There’s nothing that I long for more!
When your shirts rustle, when, my angel,
Your girlish voice I hear, when your
Light step sounds in the parlour – strangely,
I turn confused, perturbed, unsure.
Your frown – and I’m in pain, I languish;
You smile – and joy defeats distress;
My one reward for a day’s anguish
Comes when your, pale hand, love, I kiss.
When you sit, bent over your sewing,
Your eyes cast down and fine curls blowing.
About your face, with tenderness
I like childlike watch, my heart o’erflowing
With love, in my gaze a caress.
Shall I my jealousy and yearning
Describe, my bitterness and woe
When by yourself on some bleak morning
Off on a distant walk you go,
Or with another spend the evening
And, with him near, the piano play,
Or for Opochka leave, or, grieving
Weep and in silence, pass the day?
Alina! Pray relent have mercy!
I dare not ask for love – with all
My many sins, both great and small,
I am perhaps of love unworthy!
But if feigned love, if you would
Pretend, you’d easily deceive me,
For happily would I, believe me,
Deceive myself if but I could!

Pimen [writing in front of a sacred lamp]:
One more, the final record, and my annals
Are ended, and fulfilled the duty laid
By God on me a sinner. Not in vain
Hath God appointed me for many years
A witness, teaching me the art of letters;
A day will come when some laborious monk
Will bring to light my zealous, nameless toil,
Kindle, as I, his lamp, and from the parchment
Shaking the dust of ages will transcribe
My true narrations.

The heavy hanging chains shall fall,
The walls shall crumble at the word,
And Freedom greet you with the light
And brothers give you back the sword.

I’ve lived to bury my desires,
And see my dreams corrode with rust;
Now all that’s left are fruitless fires
That burn my empty heart to dust.

The less we show our love to a woman,
Or please her less, and neglect our duty,
The more we trap and ruin her surely
In the flattering toils of philandery.

He who has lived and thought can never
Help in his soul despising men,
He who has felt will be forever
Haunted by days he can’t regain.
For him there are no more enchantments,
Him does the serpent of remembrance,
Him does repentance always gnaw.
All this will frequently afford
A great delight to conversations.

For one can live in friendship
With verses and with cards, with Plato and with wine,
And hide beneath the gentle cover of our playful pranks
A noble heart and mind.

My dreams, my dreams! What has become of their sweetness? What indeed has become of my youth?

Кто жил и мыслил, тот не может В душе не презирать людей;

It's a lucky man who leaves early from life's banquet, before he's drained to the dregs his goblet - full of wine; yes, it's a lucky man who has not read life's novel to the end, but has been wise enough to part with it abruptly - like me with my Onegin.

"Bound for your distant home"

Bound for your distant home
you were leaving alien lands.
In an hour as sad as I’ve known
I wept over your hands.
My hands were numb and cold,
still trying to restrain
you, whom my hurt told
never to end this pain.

But you snatched your lips away
from our bitterest kiss.
You invoked another place
than the dismal exile of this.
You said, ‘When we meet again,
in the shadow of olive-trees,
we shall kiss, in a love without pain,
under cloudless infinities.’

But there, alas, where the sky
shines with blue radiance,
where olive-tree shadows lie
on the waters glittering dance,
your beauty, your suffering,
are lost in eternity.
But the sweet kiss of our meeting ......
I wait for it: you owe it me .......