Lyubov Quotes

In the steady light of her power,she pressed a kiss upon his mouth and breathed two words into the soft caress."Amore mio." She felt his arms circle her,his lips curling into a smile against her own. "In Russian," she added ,"it is lyubov moya.

You’re an amazing mother, moya malen'kaya lyubov'.

Lyubov Popova, Aleksandra Ekster and Rodchenko’s wife, Varvara Stepanova (1894–1958), all played a major part in defining, developing and creating Constructivist art. Popova offered an early definition of their practice, saying “construction in painting is the sum of the energy of its parts.

Life—life—how cruel it is! Nothing but tears and sorrow and despair! Not a moment of happiness! Not a moment of joy.

The girl, indeed, is rare who does not, on getting married, attempt to remodel her husband according to her own ideas.

A careful observation of ourselves would immensely simplify life, and would make many things much clearer to us.

And yet if anything in the world can save you, it is not a convent and not Catholicism, but simply an active interest in your fellow-creatures. When experience and observation have taught us love and charity, we are saved, and life is no longer terrible. Fate may be as cruel as she pleases ; but if we have warmth and love in our hearts, we shall never be alone, never in despair, and shall never think of self-destruction, if only out of pity for all our suffering brothers, whom, as long as we live, we have always the chance of helping.

No one can sing well, play well, or write well, without living through moments of the deepest pain and anguish. Every real talent has known times of torturing depression when the heart in its agony has cried out to God: “Why hast Thou forsaken me? What have I done that I should suffer so?" And then, at the very darkest moment, suddenly, the veil is torn from their eyes! Truth, with her flaming torch, stands before them, and they understand that God sends them suffering to strengthen and ennoble their talent, that it may touch men's hearts and show to tired wanderers on earth glimpses of heaven.

Books took, in her young life, the place of companions and childish games. She read a great deal without guidance or discrimination, and gained all her ideas on life, all her faith, all her ideals and aims and aspirations from books. Books stood between her and reality, and hid from her those deep truths that can never be learnt from even the greatest literary production, but can only be understood after long years of untiring observation and experience. It was in books also that Irene found her ideal of the man she could love. Her hero was an exceedingly complicated character.

Why are you all quarrelling about whether certain miracles were or were not performed nineteen centuries ago in Palestine? Why must you be certain of those particular miracles, before you can believe in God? To-day, at this very moment, you are surrounded by miracles. Birth, death, sunrise, springtime, winter—are not all these miracles? You have forgotten them because you see them every day. In your silly self-conceit, you assure yourselves that all this is perfectly natural, and that science has long ago explained it all—but you forget that your science has only noted the existence of these miracles, and that their secret belongs as much as ever to the Almighty Ruler of the Universe in whom you find it so difficult to believe.

But the child grows up, and reaches adolescence. He stands on the threshold of life, and the school-bench is left behind him. School has taught him but little—a few facts and some elementary information. But he has learnt to reason logically, and to examine the solid foundations on which the world rests. He begins to apply his logic to everything, and when he approaches religion, doubt trembles in his soul. The absurd improbability of the legends of the Middle Ages disgusts him, and at the same time he is obsessed by the fear of remaining without a relegion, a fear which has been inculcated into his mind by his entire upbringing. Calm and cold-blooded people think it all out, and become confirmed Atheists. Not so, however, those others with fervent, burning souls!

He announced to me that as soon as ever he grows up, he will get married, just because he wants to have little children, whom he likes. ‘There is only one trouble,’ he added, very seriously, ‘I shall have to live all the time with my wife; there is no escape.

In all poor countries, where general culture is not very advanced, monasteries give to the masses the silence, poetry and music, for which their souls unconsciously yearn. As soon, however, as a people grows prosperous, educates itself and finds its own distractions, the need for convents or monasteries disappears. Simple-minded folk imagine that the suppression of the religious orders means the decay of Christianity—but they forget that monasteries existed in India and in China, long before the birth of Christ. Christianity did not invent them, but the monasteries of the time gradually adopted the new faith. Actually, all such institutions are quite contrary to Christian ideals, for Christ's teaching, above all else, enjoins activity.

People in books were always so charming, and all their thoughts and actions so comprehensible. They all invariably had a clear, well-defined object in life, and strove through a few hundred engrossing pages to attain this object. They were all noble and generous, and their lives were bright and beautiful. What interesting and delightful moments Irene had passed in their society! They had made her laugh and cry and suffer and rejoice, and had entertained her with the brilliancy of their wit. How dull and colourless real people had appeared beside these heroes and heroines of fiction.

Italians can drink hot chocolate and eat ices almost at the same time, without dying!

Therefore, people desirous of attaining happiness, must as a first step be just and honourable, and never offend nor hurt anyone. Then, and then only, can God send them peace and success in all their undertakings, and then only can they be happy without the smallest struggle or effort to attain this natural happiness.

As the bulb of black cloud, lit by both sun and flame, hovered above the storehouses, the people of Leningrad looked on in choked awe. “It was an immense spectacle of stunning beauty,” wrote Lyubov Shaporina. The air smelled sweet as tons of sugar burned.

My Russia My Responsibility (The Sonnet) Moya Rossiya, moya lyubov, I am sorry, That the world has turned its back on us. But can you really blame them when, We accepted a terrorist as a leader of ours! Awake, arise, my brave comrades, Drink deep from the valor of Volga. I say, enough with apathy, for it is high time, To sanitize our land against all domestic virus. We let a terrorist loose on our neighbors, And all that bloodshed is on our hands. Even now if we don't mend our horrific error, One savage will turn our world into a wasteland. Mnogo te obicham, for you are still my home. To humanize our home is the duty of none but our own.

Before the bouncers could tear the rollicking pair apart, Meena dove into the mess, literally throwing herself between the men. To their credit, they had reflexes honed enough to stop their punches mid thrust. “Vex, what the hell are you doing? Can’t you see I’m busy?” Leo grumbled. “Do not involve yourself in the matters of men, lyubov moya.” She could now see why people went to jail for murder. The stubbornness of this man was enough to make her violent— intentionally instead of accidentally for once. “Would you stop it, Dmitri? Face it. You’ve lost. Lost me and this fight. I belong to Pookie now, and as you can see, he’s not into sharing.” She addressed this to Leo, who looked deliciously rumpled with his messy hair, his skin flushed, and needing a kiss to his slightly swollen lower lip. “Yeah, Dmitri,” Leo taunted. “She’s mine. All mine. And the only thing I’m sharing is my shower with her. So fuck off.” A shower? With Leo? Why the hell were they still talking? “This isn’t over,” Dmitri warned. “Bring it, you Russian furball. You know where I live. Anytime you wanna go, come pay me a visit,” Leo dared.

It was not in Raj Lyubov's nature to think, "What can I do?" Character and training disposed him not to interfere in other men's business. His job was to find out what they did, and his inclination was to let them go on doing it.

We know how to dream beautifully! And in our dreams we are always extraordinarily active! We cross oceans, found colonies, introduce ideal governments, and die as Kings or at least Presidents of Republics! In actual life, however, we groan, we are miserable, and we greatly resent being obliged to bother about going to the Bank, in order to receive the interest of the capital acquired for us by our more energetic ancestors.

Thousands, millions of people are born every day, but never again will the world see your like !

Lyubov' ne to, chto vy mozhete ponyat', eto to, chto vy chuvstvuyete v svoyem serdtse. Net slov, eto prosto tak.

Smart,” Varya said. “Lyubov ne kartoshka; ne vikinesh v okoshko. Means: love is not potato; can not throw out of window. Means: with love you stawck. Look on Nancy-Anastasia. My daughter. Beautiful? Yes. Happy? No. She and hawsband wait only divorce.

But the better part of the audience seemed to identify strongly with the symphony's assertion of will—what Maxim Shostakovich called "the determination of a strong man to BE." Many listeners had already lost friends and relatives to the Terror, and were in a numbed, terrified state. Gavriil Popov said to Lyubov Shaporina, the founder of the Puppet Theater: "You know, I've turned into a coward. I'm a coward, I'm afraid of everything, I even burned your letters." The Fifth had the effect of taking away, for a little while, that primitive fear. One listener was so gripped by the music that he stood up, as if royalty had walked into the room. Others began rising from their seats. During the long ovation that followed, Yevgeny Mravinsky, the conductor, held the score above his head.