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Anna Akhmatova
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“I speak in those words suddenly / That rise once in the soul.”
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“If I can't have love, if I can't find peace, / Give me a bitter glory.”
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“The pain of silence makes love render / Her private grief in public verses.”
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“... my love for you's so strong / That no one could kill it — not even you.”
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“But for the exile, as for ailing / Or jailed folk, always have I bled. / Deep shadows are your lone path veiling / And ever sour is alien bread.”
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“When in the night hour I await her coming / It seems to me my life hangs by a thread. / Youth, honors, liberty all shrink to nothing / When my dear visitor pipes by my bed.”
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“Today I have much work to do: / I must finally kill my memory, / I must, so my soul can turn to stone, / I must learn to live again.”
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“I love you like forty / fond sisters.”
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“But I warn you, / I am living for the last time.”
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“I, like a river, / Have been turned aside by this harsh age. / I am a substitute. My life has flowed / Into another channel / And I do not recognize my shores.”
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“If I could stand beside my body / and really see the woman I am, / then I would understand at last how envy feels.”
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“Poems are my link with the times, with the new life of my people.”
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“It was a time when only the dead / smiled ...”
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“There is a magic burning in it, / Cutting its facets diamond clear, / And it alone calms me in minutes / When others do not dare come near.”
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“Do not repeat what someone else has said, / Use your own words and your imagination. / But it may be that poetry itself / Is simply one magnificent quotation.”
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“I'll be forgotten? That is really nothing. / I have been forgotten a hundred times, / A hundred times I have lain in my coffin, / I may be dead and buried even now.”
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“How short the road has suddenly become, / The end of which seemed out of sight before!”
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“He loved three things in life: / Evensong, white peacocks / And old maps of America. / He hated it when children cried, / He hated tea with raspberry jam / And women's hysterics. / ... And I was his wife.”
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“Italy is a dream that keeps returning for the rest of your life.”
Anna Akhmatova, Russian poet
(1889 - 1966)
Full name: Anna Andreyevna Gorenko.