We are all carousers and loose women here; How unhappy we are together!.

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 implac….

Poems are my link with the times, with the new life of my people..

A choir of angels glorified the hour, the vault of heaven was dissolved in fire. "Father, why hast Thou forsaken me? Mother, I beg you, do not weep f….

In the terrible years of the Yezhov terror I spent seventeen months waiting in line outside the prison in Leningrad. One day somebody in the crowd id….

You will hear thunder and remember me, and think: she wanted storms..

It is unbearably painful for the soul to love silently..

Italy is a dream that keeps returning for the rest of your life..

The triumphs of a mysterious non-meeting are desolate ones; unspoken phrases, silent words..

Call me a sinner, Mock me maliciously: I was your insomnia, I was your grief..

The whole time I was hoping my silence would fit yours and exclamation marks would gently float across time and space so that boundaries would be cro….

Sweet to me was not the voice of man, But the wind's voice was understood by me. The burdocks and the nettles fed my soul, But I loved the silver wil….

Not, not mine: it's somebody else's wound; I could never have borne it. So take the thing that happened, hide it, stick it in the ground; whisk the l….

How the miracle of our meeting Shone there and sang, I didn't want to return From there to anywhere. Happiness instead of duty Was bitter delight to ….

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

You thought I was that type: that you could forget me, and that I'd plead and weep and throw myself under the hooves of a bay mare, or that I'd ask t….

And it seemed to me that there were fires Flying till dawn without number And I never found out things-those Strange eyes of his-what colour? Everyth….

I am not one of those who left the land to the mercy of its enemies. Their flattery leaves me cold, my songs are not for them to praise..

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

Now no one will listen to songs. The prophesied days have begun. Latest poem of mine, the world has lost its wonder, Don't break my heart, don't ring….

The secret of secrets is inside me again..