#Quote
More Quotes by Alexander Pushkin
..depression still kept guard on him, and chased after him like a shadow - or like a faithful wife.
He filled a shelf with a small army of books and read and read; but none of it made sense. .. They were all subject to various cramping limitations: those of the past were outdated, and those of the present were obsessed with the past.
It's a lucky man, a very lucky man, who is committed to what he believes, who has stifled intellectual detachment and can relax in the luxury of his emotions - like a tipsy traveller resting for the night at wayside inn.
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.
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.
My dreams, my dreams! What has become of their sweetness? What indeed has become of my youth?
A deception that elevates us is dearer than a host of low truths.
The less we love her when we woo her, The more we draw a woman in,
Dearer to me than a host of base truths is the illusion that exalts.
Ecstasy is a glass full of tea and a piece of sugar in the mouth.
