Mikhail Bulgakov Quotes

In fact, I'm beginning to fear that this confusion will go on for a long time. And all because he writes down what I said incorrectly.

There was something uncommonly fake and uncertain in every line of these articles, depite their threatening and self-assured tone. I kept thinking . . . that the authors of these articles weren't saying what they wanted to say, and that that was why they were so furious.

Don't be afraid, Queen … don't be afraid, Queen, the blood has long since gone into the earth. And where it was spilled, grapevines are already growing.

What's the use of dying in a ward surrounded by a lot of groaning and croaking incurables? Wouldn't it be much better to throw a party with that twenty-seven thousand and take poison and depart for the other world to the sound of violins, surrounded by lovely drunken girls and happy friends?

It's all over, so let's not burden the telegraph system.

Foreign visitors . . . how impressed you all are with foreign visitors! But they come in many different varieties.

Manuscripts don't burn.

Well, as everyone knows, once witchcraft gets started, there's no stopping it.

We have no idea whether there were any other strange occurences in Moscow that night, and we have no intention of trying to find out, since the time has come for us to proceed to Part Two of this true narrative. Follow me, reader!

‘He's clever,' thought Ivan,' I must admit there are some smart people even among the intelligentsia'

Ryukhin showed himself no mercy-'I don't believe in anything I've ever written!'

They have read your novel . . . and they said only one thing, that, unfortunately, it is not finished. So I wanted to show you your hero. He has been sitting here for about two thousand years, sleeping, but, when the moon is full, he is tormented, as you see, by insomnia. And it torments not only him, but his faithful guardian, the dog. If it is true that cowardice is the most grave vice, then the dog, at least, is not guilty of it. The only thing that brave creature ever feared was thunderstorms. But what can be done, the one who loves must share the fate of the one who is loved.

No documents, no person.

Once upon a time there was a lady. She had no children, and no happiness either. And at first she cried for a long time, but then she became wicked . . .

The hope that she might regain her happiness made her fearless.