Quotes by Alekszandr Blok

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Art means the joy of being yourself, living and belonging to society.

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A book is a great thing, so long as a man knows how to use it.

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Only one thing makes a man, a man: the awareness of social inequality.

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The direct responsibility of the artist is to show, not to prove.

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The realization that the most wonderful was right next to us comes too late.

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Only on the sublime is it worth meditating, a writer must set only great goals, without being intimidated by his weak powers.

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Only the one in love has the right to be called a man.

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The truth, hard as it may be, is easy.

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He who will understand that the meaning of human life consists in anxiety and worry, will no longer be a philistine.

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The stronger you feel the connection with the homeland, the more realistically and with more pleasure you can imagine it as a living organism.

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...I am a writer, I am a man who calls things by their names, and who robs flowers of their fragrance.

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Art, like life, is not for the weak.

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And eternal struggle! We can only dream of peace.

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It's worth living just to ask life immeasurably long.

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The lazy and the lazy are harmful to the welfare of the people.

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The earth is bare, the moon shines - don't think you'll be enchanted again. The ice horror of frozen stars, their silence nestles in my heart.

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My eyes sink into the darkness at the window, waiting for another happy moment to come. Your passion has long drawn you to someone else. All the same. I keep your dreaded secret. Everything that seems to be clouded in your heart will be clear in my silence, yes. And if that other one leaves you, you can't admit it, only to me.

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Fate didn't make it for me - so why did I see you in my dream? There is an eternal dream: the knight dreams of his lady, his enemy is the persecuted, his home is the exile, the ocean is the captain, the girl is a pink mist. My dream is different: something indecipherable, one-time, and if it does return, my heart bleeds.

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I say goodbye to good and bad every evening, leaving the dust is filled with hope and fear. But this is what I meet again in the morning: I am tormented by goodness and I curse evil.

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Be like the grasses, wise, break into the aimless ocean of light, fly your extended voice into the land of non-earthly violins.

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At night, pharmacy, street, lamp, senseless, dead light. Live another twenty years - no matter what, it will still be the same. No hope. You die - and everything starts again and never changes: icy canal, night, street, lamp, pharmacy.

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But a cheerful young man will perhaps say this about me one day: Let's forgive his gloom, did that ever move him? It was full of light, full of goodness, the triumph of freedom!

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Dig yourself in, stay to yourself, You hate when the light shines, You are blind to see the future, And you deny the present.

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You are so familiar, as if you have lived with me before. At others, at home, in the noise of the street, I suddenly see your face. You come, if there is a soft noise behind me, you are there, wherever I am.

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In the evening, when the dusk has already passed, I wave goodbye and await my death, and wake up to the dawn of cold days, greeting a life full of pain again.