You do not know just what you've been forgiven.

Anna Akhmatova

Anna Akhmatova

Profession: Poet
Nationality: Russian

Some suggestions for you :

I am in the middle of it: chaos and poetry; poetry and love and again, complete chaos. Pain, disorder, occasional clarity; and at the bottom of it all: only love; poetry. Sheer enchantment, fear, humiliation. It all comes with love.

Real tenderness can't be confused, It's quiet and can't be heard.

Tomorrow the mirrors will mock me.

It was a time when only the dead smiled, happy in their peace.

If you were music, I would listen to you ceaselessly, and my low spirits would brighten up.

Courage: Great Russian word, fit for the songs of our children's children, pure on their tongues, and free.

Each of our lives is a Shakespearean drama raised to the thousandth degree.

Who will grieve for this woman? Does she not seem too insignificant for our concern? Yet in my heart I never will deny her, Who suffered death because she chose to turn.

I should be proud to have my memory graced, but only if the monument be placed... here, where I endured three hundred hours in line before the implacable iron bars.

Dostoyevsky knew a lot but not everything. He, for instance, thought that if you kill a human you'll turn into Raskolnikov. But we know now that one can kill five - ten, one hundred people - and go to the theatre in the evening.

I always think about the past, it's so large and bright.

In those years only the dead smiled, Glad to be at rest: And Leningrad city swayed like A needless appendix to its prisons.

I have long had this premonition of a bright day and a deserted house.

All has been looted, betrayed, sold; black death's wing flashed ahead.