I wanted to run after him, but remembered that it is ridiculous to run after one’s wife’s lover in one’s socks; and I did not wish to be ridiculous but terrible. ― Leo Tolstoy, The Kreutzer Sonata. (Modern Library; Modern Library Paperback Ed edition September 9, 2003) Originally published 1889.
It is only when we realize that life is taking us nowhere that it begins to have meaning. —P. D. Ouspensky
Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation’s tears in shoulder blades. ― Boris Pasternak
I tell you, the universe is the scratch of a match on the face of the calculus. And my thoughts are a picklock at work on a door, and behind it someone is dying. — Velimir Khlebnikov, “Suppose I make a timepiece of humanity,” (January 28th, 1922), The King of Time: Selected Writings of the… Continue reading Velimir Khlebnikov
I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita. —Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita. (Olympia Press 1955)
But who are we, where do we come from When all those years Nothing but idle talk is left And we are nowhere in the world?” ― Boris Pasternak, The Poems of Doctor Zhivago. (Hallmark Editions; First Thus edition January 1, 1967) Originally published January 1st 1965.
Eternalise me just a bit: take some snow and sculpt me in it, with your warm and bare palm polish me until I shine . . . — Vera Pavlova, Письма в соседнюю комнату: 1001 признание в люk. Translation: Steven Seymour. (AST Publishing House, Moscow, 2006)