Verse 1 For as long as I can remember, The windows always glowed for me, In the room filled with quiet spring, And embroidered towels on the wall. In that sacred, peaceful chamber, A child’s heart would read and know Shevchenko’s kind and watchful eyes, And golden patterns in a[…]
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Don't talk about horrid subjects. If one doesn't talk about a thing, it has never happened.
How sad it is! I shall grow old, and horrible, and dreadful. But this portrait will remain always young.
The only difference between a caprice and a life-long passion is that the caprice lasts a little longer.
You had brought me something higher, something of which all art is but a reflection.
She was free in her prison on passion.
The world belongs to you for a season.
Her body swayed, while she danced, as a plant sways in the water.
Her hair clustered around her face like dark leaves round a pale rose.
The moment she touched actual life, she marred it, and it marred her, and so she passed away.
And as for believing things, I can believe anything, provided that it is incredible.
I have grown to love secrecy.
One should absorb the colour of life, but one should never remember its detail. Details are always vulgar.
Don't run down dyed hair and painted faces. There is an extraordinary charm in them, sometimes.
I thought you dandies never got up till two, and were not visible till five.
Like the painting of a sorrow, a face without a heart.
To get back my youth, I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable.
Every experience is of value.
Sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake.
The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst.
It was a poor thing she felt for anyone to be born a foreigner.
I'm too fond of reading books to care to write them.