Валерий Яковлевич Брюсов цитаты

Валерий Яковлевич Брюсов фото

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Валерий Яковлевич Брюсов

Дата рождения: 13. Декабрь 1873
Дата смерти: 9. Октябрь 1924

Вале́рий Я́ковлевич Брю́сов — русский поэт, прозаик, драматург, переводчик, литературовед, литературный критик и историк. Один из основоположников русского символизма.

Цитаты Валерий Яковлевич Брюсов


„Быть может, эти электроны“

„― Но Брюсов, помилуйте! ― Цевницы, гробницы, наложницы, наяды и сирены, козлоногие фавны, кентавры, отравительницы колодцев, суккубы, в каждой строке грехопадение, в каждом четверостишии свальный грех, ― и всё пифии, пифии, пифии...“


„Я начал писать стихи в 1909 году, а Надя год спустя. Не знаю, при каких обстоятельствах она познакомилась с В.Я. Брюсовым. В 1911 году Валерий Яковлевич посвятил стихотворение Н. Львовой; он писал:“

„На нас ордой опьянелой“

„Литература ему представлялась безжалостным божеством, вечно требующим крови. Она для него олицетворялась в учебнике истории литературы. Такому научному кирпичу он способен был поклоняться, как священному камню, олицетворению Митры. В декабре 1903 года, в тот самый день, когда ему исполнилось тридцать лет, он сказал мне буквально так:“

„Юность моя — юность гения. Я жил и поступал так, что оправдать моё поведение могут только великие деяния.“

„Осенью 1904 г. я однажды случайно сказал Брюсову, что нахожу в Нине много хорошего.“

„Как у старого дивана“


„«Быть может, всё в жизни лишь средство“

„Жизнь в богатстве кончилась для Эдгара, когда ему не было и полных 17 лет. В университете он пробыл всего год. Осенью 1826 г. произошёл разрыв между Дж. Аллэном, 1924“

„День, из душных дней, что клеймены“

„«Мы славим Прах, Твоё Величество“


„If there exist fortunate people, if from time to time the wild sun of joy soars towards foreign lands in a sweet whirling of ecstasy — then where are the words which might tell of this? And if in the world there exists a beauty for enchantment, then how might one describe it?

("The Poison Garden")“
The Silver Age of Russian Culture: An Anthology

„All my life I have preserved in the depths of my heart a live faith in my Creator, the Defender of the World, in His Sanctifying Grace and in the expiatory sacrifice of Christ our Saviour, but never have I agreed that true religion demands outward manifestations.“ The Fiery Angel

„Her face appeared to have grown paler, and it seemed as if there were a mocking insanity flaring up almost imperceptibly on her lips and in the azure of her eyes there lurked the insanity of grief. She was silent, and she waited for what her father would say.

And he spoke slowly, finding words almost with difficulty, 'Dearest, what did I hear? I did not expect this of you. Why did you do it?'

The Beauty bowed her head and said softly and sadly, 'Father, sooner or later all this will come to pass anyway.'

'Sooner or later?' asked the father as if in surprise. And he continued, 'Better late than sooner.'

'I am all aflame,' said the Beauty softly.

And the smile on her lips was like the reflection of some searing flame, and in her eyes there gleamed blue lightning, and her naked arms and shoulders were like some delicate vessel of alabaster, filled to the brim with a molten metal. Her firm breasts rose and fell impetuously, and two white waves strained forth from the tight confines of her dress, the delicate color of which was reminiscent of the yellowish rosiness of a peach. From beneath the folds of her short dress were visible against the dark green velvet of the rug and entwined by the pink ribbons of her gilded sandals her white and trembling legs.

("The Poison Garden")“
The Silver Age of Russian Culture: An Anthology

„But the young Count insisted on the Beauty selecting a flower for him. He was waiting impatiently for her second present, the promised kiss — her first kiss.

The Beauty looked at the flowers. Once again her face was darkened by a delicate shade of sadness. Suddenly, as if prompted by some strange will, she quickly stretched out a hand, so exquisite in its naked whiteness, and plucked a many-petaled flower. Her hand hesitated, and she bowed her head, and finally with an expression of shy indecision she approached the Count and placed the flower in a buttonhole of his cloak.

The powerful and pungent scent wafted into the young Count's face, which grew pale as his head reeled in languid impotence. Indifference and tedium overcame him. He was scarcely aware of himself, he hardly noticed that the Beauty took him by the arm and led him into the house, away from the fragrances of the wondrous Garden.

In one of the rooms of the house where all was bright, white and rosy, the Count came to himself. A youthful vitality returned to his face, his black eyes were aflame with passion once again, and he felt the joy of life and the surge of desire anew. But already the inescapable lay in wait for him. A white hand, bare, slender, lay on his neck; and the fragrant kiss of the Beauty was tender, sweet, long. The two blue lightnings of her eyes flashed close to his eyes and were masked with the subtle mystery of her long eyelashes. The sinister fires of some sweet pain swirled like a whirlwind about the heart of the young Count. He raised his arms to embrace the Beauty — but with a soft cry she stepped away and softly, quietly, ran away, leaving him alone.

("The Poison Garden")“
The Silver Age of Russian Culture: An Anthology

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