1. There are no traces of wings in the sky, but I have flown.
Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death like autumn leaves.
If you shed tears when you miss the sun, you will also miss the stars.
Sorrow is hushed in my heart like the evening in the silent forest.
I can't choose the best, but the best chose me.
6. The dust bears the burden of humiliation, but it returns with flowers.
7. To the world, you are one person; But for someone, you are the world.
8. Don't cry because it is over, smile because it happened.
9. When you shut the door on all mistakes, the truth will be rejected.
10. We read the world wrong and said it deceived us.
Pushkin
My epitaph
Pushkin was buried here; He and the young muse,
And love and laziness, * * * spent a happy life together.
He hasn't done anything good, but as far as his thoughts are concerned,
But he's really a good guy.
If life cheats you.
If life deceives you,
Don't be sad, don't be impatient!
You need to keep calm in blue days;
Believe it, happy days will come.
The heart always yearns for the future,
Now it is often melancholy:
Everything is instantaneous, and everything will pass;
And what has passed will become a kind of nostalgia.
To Kane
I remember that wonderful moment:
You appeared in front of me,
Like a flash in the pan,
Like a pure and beautiful elf.
In the torment of despair and sadness,
In the noisy and illusory chaos,
Your gentle voice echoed in my ear for a long time,
I still see your lovely face in my sleep.
Many years have passed. Fanatical passion
Dispel past dreams,
So I forgot your gentle voice,
And that angelic face.
In the backcountry, in the dark life of imprisonment,
My years passed quietly,
No divinity, no inspiration,
No tears, no life, no love.
Now the soul has begun to awaken:
At this time, you reappeared in front of me.
Like a flash in the pan,
Like a pure and beautiful elf.
My heart is beating with ecstasy,
For it, everything woke up again,
With divinity and inspiration,
With life, tears and love.
A little flower
I saw a forgotten little flower in a book.
It has dried up and lost its fragrance;
At this moment, in my mind.
Full of strange fantasies:
Where does it go? What time? What spring is it?
Did you drive for a long time? Who took it off,
Is it a stranger's hand or a familiar hand?
Why put it here again?
To commemorate this warm meeting,
Or for destiny takes a hand's parting,
Or to commemorate the lonely walk?
In the secluded place of the field, in the shadow of the forest?
He's alive. Is she alive?
Where is the corner where they live now?
Or they all dried up,
Like this unknown little flower?