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Vladimir Mayakovsky

Vladimir Mayakovsky Books

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Mayakovsky

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“If an American is motoring on his own, he (the paragon of morality and chastity) will slow down and stop beside every solitary pretty female pedestrian, bare his teeth in a big smile, and tempt her into his car with a wild roll of the eyes. A lady who fails to appreciate his passion will qualify as an idiot who doesn't realise how lucky she is to have the opportunity of getting to know the owner of this 100-horse-power motor car.”

IfsKnowsBigsEyePassionOpportunityFailingCarMoralityLuckyFemaleAppreciateHorseDown AndTeethIdiotOwnersRealisingSolitarySlow DownMotorChastityPedestriansMotor CarsParagon
Book:My Discovery of America
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“They stood brow to brow, brown to white, black to black, he supporting her elbows, she playing her limp light fingers over his collarbone, and how he "ladored,"he said, the dark aroma of her hair blending with crushed lily stalks, Turkish cigarettes and the lassitude that comes from "lass." "No, no, don't," she said, I must wash, quick-quick, Ada must wash; but for yet another immortal moment they stood embraced in the hushed avenue, enjoying as they had never enjoyed before, the "happy-forever" feeling at the end of never-ending fairy tales.”

SaidEndsMomentsFeelingsLightEnjoyBlackDarkWhiteForeverHairFingersTalesEnjoyedFairyBrownImmortalFairy TaleCigaretteAvenuesCrushedLiliesBrowsStalkingNever EndingElbowsTurkishAromaAda
Author:Vladimir Mayakovsky
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“Past one o’clock. You must have gone to bed. The Milky Way streams silver through the night. I’m in no hurry; with lightning telegrams I have no cause to wake or trouble you. And, as they say, the incident is closed. Love’s boat has smashed against the daily grind. Now you and I are quits. Why bother then To balance mutual sorrows, pains, and hurts. Behold what quiet settles on the world. Night wraps the sky in tribute from the stars. In hours like these, one rises to address The ages, history, and all creation.”

WorldWayAgePainPastNightStarsCausesHoursHurtGoneTroubleSkyCreationBalanceSorrowBedQuietQuittingBoatClockBotherSettlingStreamsAddressesSilverMutualLightningWrapsIncidentsGrindTributeMilky WayWhy BotherTelegramsDaily Grind
Book:Klop, Stikhi, Poėmy
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“Formerly I believed books were made like this: a poet came, lightly opened his lips, and the inspired fool burst into song – if you please! But it seems, before they can launch a song, poets must tramp for days with callused feet, and the sluggish fish of the imagination flounders softly in the slush of the heart. And while, with twittering rhymes, they boil a broth of loves and nightingales, the tongueless street merely writhes for lack of something to shout or say”

IfsHeartMadeBookSeemsSongImaginationFeetStreetsPoetFoolPleaseInspiredLipsFishesRhymeNightingalesSluggishTrampsSlush
Author:Vladimir Mayakovsky
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“Were I as quiet as thunder, how I'd wail and whine! One groan of mine would start the world's crumbling cloister shivering. And if I'd end up by roaring with all of its power of lungs and more - the comets, distressed, would wring their hands and from the sky's roof leap in a fever.”

IfsWorldEndsHandsSkyMinesQuietLeapRoofThunderLungsFeverRoaringCometsCrumbling
Book:Селестед Воркс ин Тхрее Волумес: Селестед версе
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