So many memories and so little worth remembering, and in front of me - a long, long road without a goal.

The past was a dream wasn't it? And who ever remembers dreams?

A poet must be a psychologist, but a secret one: he should know and feel the roots of phenomena but present only the phenomena themselves in full bloom or as they fade away.

In days of doubt, in days of dreary musings on my country's fate, you alone are my comfort and support, oh great, powerful, righteous, and free Russian language!

Art, if one employs this term in the broad sense that includes poetry within its realm, is an art of creation laden with ideals, located at the very core of the life of a people, defining the spiritual and moral shape of that life.

We’re young, we’re not monsters, no fools: we’ll conquer happiness for ourselves.

Most people can't understand how others can blow their noses differently than they do.