Essays and poems on the theme of sadness

Selected Works of Turgenev's Prose Poems The road to love is in trouble. "What do these voices mean?" "This means that I feel pain, and I feel pain strongly." "Have you ever heard the murmur of a stream when it hits a stone?" "Yes ... but what does it mean?" "The murmur and your groan are the same voice, nothing else. The difference is that the murmur of the stream makes people feel sweet, but your groan can't arouse anyone's pity. You don't have to suppress your groans, but please remember: this is a sound, a sound, a sound like the creaking of trees ... a sound-nothing else. Turgenev's prose poems were written one year before his death, when he was seriously ill (spinal cord cancer) and often in pain and loneliness. Beggar I was walking in the street ... A beggar-a weak old man stopped me. Red, swollen, tearful eyes, blue lips, rough and tattered clothes, nasty wounds … Ah, what poverty tortured this unfortunate person! He held out a red, swollen and dirty hand to me. He groaned and whispered for help. I reached out and searched all my pockets. There is neither a wallet nor a pocket watch, not even a handkerchief. I didn't bring anything. But the beggar is waiting ... His outstretched hand is shaking and shaking slightly. I am at a loss, at a loss, holding this dirty and trembling hand tightly. " Please forgive me, brother; I didn't bring anything, brother. "The beggar's red eyes stared at me; His blue lips smiled-then he squeezed my cold finger as usual. " Well, brother, "he said with difficulty," this should also be thanked. This is also a charity, brother. "The beggar's red eyes stared at me; His blue lips smiled-then he squeezed my cold finger in the same way. " Well, brother, "he said with difficulty," this should also be thanked. This is also a charity, brother. "I know. I also received a gift from my brother. Tomorrow, every day spent tomorrow, is almost empty, lazy and worthless! How few traces it left on itself! How meaningless and chaotic these past one o'clock hours are! However, people have to live; He cherishes life. He pinned his hopes on life, himself and the future ... Oh, what a happy future he expected! However, why did he imagine that other later days would not be similar to the one that just passed? He just didn't expect it. He never likes to think-he does well. " Ah, tomorrow, tomorrow! "He comforted himself until this" tomorrow "sent him to the grave. Once in the grave, you must stop thinking. On the road of love, all feelings can lead to love, passionate admiration, all feelings: hatred, pity, indifference, reverence, friendship, fear and even contempt. Yes, all feelings ... except gratitude. Thank you-this is a debt; Anyone can lend some debt ... but love is not money. I am afraid of empty talk, and I avoid empty talk; But fear of empty talk is also a kind of conceit. Thus, between these two loanwords, between conceit and empty talk, our complicated life is passing away and changing. Simple and simple! Simple! People call you sacred. However, holy-this is not a human matter. Humility-that's it. It inhibits, it overcomes pride. But don't forget: the feeling of victory itself carries its own pride. You cried ... what you cried was my sadness; I cry because I sympathize with your pity for me. However, you should know that you are crying about your own grief, because only you can see your own grief in me. Love Everyone says: love-this is the noblest and most special feeling. Don't be another "I", go deep into your "I": you are enlarged-you are also broken; Now that you are physically detached, your "I" has been eliminated. But even this disappearance makes a flesh-and-blood person resentful. Only immortal gods can be resurrected. Ah, my youth! Ah, my energy! Ah, my youth! Ah, my energy! -Nikolai Gogol "Ah, my youth! Ah, my vitality! "I used to sigh like this. However, when I sighed, I was still young and full of energy. At that time, I just wanted to vote for my own interests with melancholy mood. On the surface, I feel sorry for myself, but secretly I am in high spirits. Now, I am silent, and I am no longer sad about what I have lost. Those lost things always torment me with unspeakable troubles. " Hey! It is best not to think about it! "The man said firmly. I pity myself, others, all people, wild animals, birds … all creatures. I sympathize with children and the elderly, the unfortunate and the lucky ... I sympathize with the lucky more than the unfortunate. I sympathize with victorious and victorious leaders and great artists, thinkers and poets. I sympathize with the murderer and his victims, the ugly and the beautiful, the oppressed and the oppressor. How can I get rid of this pity? It won't let me live in peace. It, and this trouble. Oh, trouble, trouble, trouble full of pity! People can't get into trouble. Really, I'd better envy it! I envy-stone. Do you want to be a peaceful person? Then, go to associate with others, but live alone, don't start doing anything, and don't feel sorry for anything. Do you want to be a happy person? Then you must learn to bear hardships first. Whose crime? She extended her warm hand and pale hand to me ... but I pushed her away rudely and mercilessly. Young, lovely face, showing puzzled expression; Young and kind eyes, staring at me with reproachful eyes; A young and pure heart doesn't understand me. "What crime have I committed? "Her lips murmured to herself." Your sin? In the deepest part of the brightest sky, the happiest angel may be more likely to commit crimes than you. "But, in front of me, your sin is still great." You want to know it, you can't understand it, I can't explain sin to you? "This sin lies in: you-only in your youth; I am-I am old. "