217 Quotes by Anna Akhmatova

I see capital through the flurryOn this Monday night twenty-first.Some do-nothing has made up the storyThat love exists on the earth.And from laziness or from boredomAll believed, and thus they live:Wait for meeting, fear the parting,And sing songs of love.But to others opens a secretAnd upon them descends a still.I by accident came upon thisAnd since then am as if I'm ill.

No sadness, my soul’s no more of this world.

I’m not weeping, I’m not complaining,Happiness is not for me.

God is unkind to gardeners and reapers.Slanted rain coils and falls from up highAnd the wide raincoats catch water,That once had reflected the sky.In underwater realm are fields and meadowsAnd the free currents sing a lot,Plums rupture on bloated branchesAnd grass strands, lying down, rot.And through the dense and watery netI see your darling face,A quiet park, a round porchAnd a Chinese arbour-place.

All's taken away: my love and my power.The body, thrown into city it hates,Finds no joy in the sunlight. With every hourThe blood grows colder in my veins.

Instead of wisdom -- experience, bare,That does not slake thirst, is not wet.Youth's gone -- like a Sunday prayer.Is it mine to forget?On how many desert roads have searched IWith him who wasn't dear for me,How many bows gave in church IFor him, who had well loved me.I've become more oblivious than inviting,Quietly years swim.Lips unkissed, eyes unsmiling --Nothing will give me back him.

True love's memory, You are heavy!In your smoke I sing and burn,And the rest -- is only fireTo keep the chilled soul warm.To keep warm the sated body,They need my tears for thisDid I for this sing your song, God?Did I take part of love for this?Let me drink of such a poison,That I would be deaf and dumb,And my unglorious gloryWash away to the final crumb.

Like a white stone at the bottom of the well,One memory lies in me.I cannot and I do not want to struggle,It is both joy and suffering.I think that anyone who looks into myEyes will all at once see him.More sad and pensive he'll becomeThat heard the story of this suffering.I know that the gods had turnedPeople to objects, without killing mind,That divine sadness lived eternally.You're turned into my memory, I find.

Tomorrow the mirrors will mock me