Maxim Gorky Mother Quotes

إن الكنائس في المدن الكبيرة مليئة بالفضة والذهب اللذين لا حاجة لله بهما ، في حين يرتجف على ابواب الكنائس عدد لا يحصى من الفقراء ينتظرون بفارغ الصبر هبات نحيلة تُلقى في أيديهم المفتوحة.

This fear is what is the ruin of us all. And some dominate us; they take advantage of our fear and frighten us still more. Mark this: as long as people are afraid, they will rot like the birches in the marsh. We must grow bold; it is time!

تنمو الحقيقة عندما يروي دم الشرفاء الأرض كالمطر الغزير، أما دم الأعداء فلا يبدع شيئاً، إنه دم عاقر، فاسد يتبخر دون أن يترك أثراً

The poor people are stupid from poverty, and the rich from greed.

in music one can hear everything.

تعمى عيون البعض من الجوع ، وتعمى عيون البعض الآخر من الذهب

لقد ذقت الهوان حتى لم يعد الهوان يثير حنقي ، أهناك فوق سطلح الأرض امرؤٌ لم يُذَلّ ؟

The pleasure of living carries with it the obligation to die.

لا أستطيع ترك الطغاة يعتقدون بموافقتي واستسلامي ، إني لا أستطيع أن اسمح لهم باستعمال ظهري كي يتعلموا جلد الآخرين

لمَ أجوع بينما الخير دافق؟ لمَ أظل بهيماً جاهلاً بينما المعرفة في كل مكان؟ لقد بدأ الشعب يثور شيئاً فشيئاً

إنكم لقلة...انتم الذين تناضلون من اجل الحقيقة.

ربما كنا جميعا شديدي الحرص على مشاعرنا، نخفيها و نعيش بالفكر و نسرف، و هذا ما افسدنا بعض الشيء، إذ إننا نفكر بدلا من ان نحس.

The indifferent pendulum of the clock kept chopping off the seconds of life, calmly and precisely.

لقد افترس الجوع النفوس وصنع مخلوقات ليس لها وجه لإنسان. إنهم لا يعيشون، إنهم يتعفنون في حضن بؤس لا نستطيع أن نتصوره، وتقيم السلطات حولهم نطاقاً من الحراسة اليقظة، تتربص بهم كالغربان لترى ان كنت تملك كسرة خبز زائدة . فاذا رأت تلك الكسرة انتزعتها منك ، ولطمتك ،فوق ذلك ، على فمك

إن المرء ليغدو، رغما عنه، ضاريا... في هذه الحياة الضارية

we people at the bottom feel everything; but it is hard for us to speak out our hearts. our thoughts float about in us. we are ashamed because, although we understand, we are not able to express them; an often from shame we are angry at our thoughts, and at those who inspire them. we drive them away from ourselves

انت مضطر احيانا كي تحارب نفسك حتى تستمر على السير قدما

I did not speak," continued Pavel, "about that good and gracious God in whom you believe, but about the God with whom the priests threaten us as with a stick, about the God in whose name they want to force all of us to the evil will of the few.

الفقر والجوع والمرض .. هذا ما يربحه الناس من عملهم . كل شيء يقف ضدنا ، ويوما بعد يوم نغرق في العمل طوال حياتنا ، نغرق في الوحل والخديعة ، في حين يتخم الآخروة .. ويتمتعون على حساب شقائنا وبؤسنا، ويسبقوننا كالكلاب في قبضة القيد والجهالة ، لأننا لا نعرف شيئا ، ويسبقوننا في قبضة الرعب لأننا نرهب كل شيء .. ان حياتنا هي الليل ... ولعمري إنه لليل حالك الظلمة

إن ما يدفعهم إلى اضطهاد الناس حتى الموت هو الإحتفاظ بفضتهم وذهبهم وأوراقهم المالية الحقيرة وكل ذلك المتاع البائس الذي يمكنهم به الإحتفاظ بالسلطة على الناس - إنهم لا يدافعون عن حياتهم عندما يقتلون الناس ويشوهون أرواحهم .. ليس في سبيل ذواتهم ، بل في سبيل ممتلكاتهم يفعلون ذلك. إنهم لا يدافعون عما في داخلهم ، بل عما في الخارج منهم

ايها الفلاحون. فتشوا عن تلك الأوراق و اقرأوها. لا تصدقوا السلطاتو الكهنة حين يقولون لكم ان اولئك الذين يحملون لنا الحقيقة ليسوا سوى كفرة عصاة، إن الحقيقة تتسرب إلى العالم كله خفية، و تبحث عن اعشاش لها في ضمير الشعب. إنها بالنسبة للسلطات كالسكين، كالنار، إنهم لا يتقبلونها لأنها ستذبحهم و تحرقهم. إن الحقيقة بالنسبة لكم خير صديق، و لكنها بالنسبة لهم عدو اشر...و هي من اجل ذلك تتخفى.

Yes, the rich. And that's their misfortune. You see, if you keep adding copper bit by bit to a child's food, you prevent the growth of its bones, and he'll be a dwarf; and if from his youth up you poison a man with gold, you deaden his soul." Once,

وماذا يعني ذلك ؟ لقد مات .. وما الذي مات ؟ هل مات تقديري لإيجور ؟ هل مات شعوري نحوه ؟ نحو الرفيق ؟ هل ماتت ذكرى صنيع أفكاره ؟ هل مات ذاك الصنيع نفسه ؟ هل انطفأت تلك المشاعر التي أيقظها فيَّ ؟ هل انمحت تلك الصورة التي رسمتها له في ذهني ؟ صورة الانسان الباسل الشريف ؟ هل مات هذا كله ؟ .. كلا إن ذلك ، في نظري ،لا يموت أبدا. أعرف ذلك ، ويبدو لي أننا نتسرع كثيرا حين نقول عن انسان ما ، انه مات . لقد ماتت شفتاه لكن كلماته ما برحت حية ، وستظل إلى الأبد ، حية في قلوبنا

They destroy lives with work. What for? They rob men of their lives. What for, I ask? My master—I lost my life in the textile mill of Nefidov—my master presented one prima donna with a golden wash basin. Every one of her toilet articles was gold. That basin holds my life-blood, my very life. That's for what my life went! A man killed me with work in order to comfort his mistress with my blood. He bought her a gold wash basin with my blood.

It's fear that's the ruin of us. And those who boss us take advantage of our fear and keep bullying us.

It's not people, but thoughts, and thoughts are not fleas; you can't catch them!

And he's direct, clear, firm, like truth itself.

God created man in his own image and after his own likeness. Therefore he is like man if man is like him.

the number of books increased on the shelves neatly made for him by one of his carpenter friends. The room began to look like a home.

مادر به خاطر داشته باش که خدا آدمو مثل خودش آفریده. پس خدا هم به بشر شباهت داره. ولی ما حالا دیگه به خدا شباهت نداریم بلکه شبیه حیوانات وحشی شدیم!.... در کلیسا به جای او مترسکی را به ما نشان میدهند.... بله مادر، باید شکل خدا رو تغییر داد و تطهیرش کرد. به تن خدا جامه هایی از دروغ و بهتان پوشانده اند و صورتش رو مثله کرده اند تا روح ما را بکشند!

Those——"—here he flung out a terrible oath—"those people don't know what their blind hands are sowing. They will know when our power is complete and we begin to mow down their cursed grass. They'll know it then!

يا للفظاعة. حفنة من الاغبياء، يضربون و يخنقون و يسحقون ليحموا سلطانهم المشؤوم على الشعب. ان الوحشية تزداد، و القسوة تغدو شريعة الوجود فتأملي. ان بعضهم يضرب، و ينطلق من قيده كالوحوش مطمئنا إلى فجوره. انهم مصابون بظمأ الى التعذيب شهواني، مصابون بذلك الداء الكريه، داء العبيد الذين يباح لهم أن يظهروا غرائزهم المنحطة، و عاداتهم البهيمية؛ بكل ما فيهم من قوة. اما الاخرون فشهوة الثأر تسممهم، انهم يصبحون، و قد اخبلتهم الضربات، بكما و عميانا، لقد افسد الشعب، الشعب بكامله.

في الضاحية عندما يتكلمون عن الخيريتناولونه بمجموعه ككل، اما هنا فكل شيء يجزأ الى جزئيات صغيرة دقيقة. ان المشاعر هناك أعمق و اقوى، اما هنا فالسيطرة للأفكار التافهة التي تفتت كل شيء. هنا كانوا يتكلمون عن تهديم النظام القديم، في حين كانوا هناك يحلمون بالنظام الجديد.

The doleful, ugly sounds became entangled in his whiskers.

bellowed

They command you, 'Be what I want you to be—a wolf, a pig'—but to be a man is prohibited.

Yes, our children are our judges. They visit just punishment upon us for abandoning them on such a road.

Man made another imperceptible step toward his grave; but he saw close before him the delights of rest, the joys of the odorous tavern, and he was satisfied.

الأم: - علام تعتمد عجوز مثلي في حزنها إذا انتزعتم الله منها؟ا بول: -انك لم تفهمينا يا اماه. ريبين: -سامحيني ايتها الأم، فلقد نسيت انك طعنت في السن لدرجة لا نستطيع معها اجتثاث ثآليلك. بول: -لم اكن اتحدث عن الله الطيب الرحيم الذي تؤمنون به، بل عن الله الذي يهددنا به الكهنة، كما لو كانوا يهددونا بعصا؛ عن إله يراد باسمه ان يخضع العالم كله للإراده القاسية، إراده البعض ريبين: -لقد زيفوا لنا حتى الله و سخروا ضدنا كل ما في ايديهم، أتذكرين ايتها الأم؟ لقد خلق الانسان على شاكلته، على صورته، اذا فهو يشبه الانسان اذا شابهه الانسان، و لكننا لا نشبه الله، بل نشبه الوحوش الضارية. انهم يظهرونه لنا في الكنيسة على شكل فزاعة. لذا ينبغي ان نطور الله ، ايتها الأم، ينبغي ان نطهره، فلقد البسوه ثوبا من الكذب و النميمة و شوهوا وجهه ليقتلوا روحنا

I've thought all my life, 'Lord Christ in heaven! what did I live for?' Beatings, work! I saw nothing except my husband. I knew nothing but fear! And how Pasha grew I did not see, and I hardly know whether I loved him when my husband was alive. All my concerns, all my thoughts were centered upon one thing—to feed my beast, to propitiate the master of my life with enough food, pleasing to his palate, and served on time, so as not to incur his displeasure, so as to escape the terrors of a beating, to get him to spare me but once! But I do not remember that he ever did spare me. He beat me so—not as a wife is beaten, but as one whom you hate and detest.

Todos os que têm uma vida difícil, que são esmagados pela miséria, privados de todos os direitos, submetidos aos ricos e lacaios destes, todos, todo o povo deve ir ao encontro dos homens que por ele morrem nas prisões, que são torturados e mortos. Eles apontam a todos, sem fazerem caso dos seus interesses pessoais, o caminho da felicidade, eles não procuram enganar os outros: dizem que é um caminho difícil e não arrastam ninguém à força, mas logo que estivermos com eles, não somos capazes de deixá-los mais, porque vemos que têm razão, que esse caminho é belo e que não há outro.

When they tear a workingman's hand in a machine or kill him, you can understand-- the workingman himself is at fault. But in a case like this, when they suck a man's blood out of him and throw him away like a carcass --that can't be explained in any way. I can comprehend every murder; but torturing for mere sport I can't comprehend. And why do they torture the people? To what purpose do they torture us all? For fun, for mere amusement, so that they can live pleasantly on the earth; so that they can buy everything with the blood of the people, a prima donna, horses, silver knives, golden dishes, expensive toys for their children. YOU work, work, work, work more and more, and I'LL hoard money by your labor and give my mistress a golden wash basin

و ماذا يعني ذلك؟ لقد ماتز و ما الذي مات؟ هل مات تقديري لايغور؟ هل مات شعوري نحوه؟ نحو الرفيق؟ هل ماتت ذكرى صنيع افكاره؟ هل مات هذا الصنيع نفسه؟ هل انطفأت تلك المشاعر التي ايقظها في؟ هل انمحت تلك الصورة التي رسمتها له في ذهني؟ صورة الانسان الباسل الشريف؟ هل مات هذا كله؟... كلا ان ذلك، في نظري، لا يموت ابدا. اعرف ذلك، و يبدو لي اننا نتسرع كثيرا حين نقول عن انسان ما، انه مات. لقد ماتت شفتاه و لكن كلماته ما برحت حية، و ستظل الى الأبد، حية في قلوب الاحياء.

Everything seems simple and near. Then, all of a sudden, I cannot understand this simplicity. Again, I'm calm. In a second I grow fearful, because I am calm. I always used to be afraid, my whole life long; but now that there's a great deal to be afraid of, I have very little fear. Why is it? I cannot understand.

يا إلهي …لقد تأملت حياتي، و تسألت… لماذا عشت؟ عشت للضرب… و العمل… و كنت لا ارى احدا سوى زوجي؛ و لا اعرف شيئا سوى الخوف. و حتى انني لا ادري كيف نشأ بول. هل احببته عندما كان زوجي حيا؟ لا ادري. لقد كان همي كله، و افكاري كلها تدور حول امر واحد هو ان اطعم ذلك الوحش الضاري، ليشعر بالاكتفاء و الشبع، و ان اضع نفسي في خدمته في الوقت المناسب، كيلا يستشيط غضبا، و يشبعني ضربا؛ او على الاقل لكي يوفرني من الضربهذه المرة. و لا اذكر انه فعل ذلك ابدا.، لقد كان يضربني بضراوة، حتى لأحسب انه كان لا يضربني انا بالذات، بل يضرب في كل اولئك الذين يكرههم. و لقد عشت عشرين عاما على هذه الوتيرة، ولا اعرف شيئا مما حدث قبل زواجي، و قد تعاودني الذكرى، و لكنني لا البث ان اصبح كالعمياء، لا ارى شيئا ابدا. لقد كان ايغور ايفا نوفيتش، و هو ابن قريتي، كان هناك، و كان يتحدث عن هذا او ذاك. اما انا فأذكر بيوتا و ناسا…اما كيف كان يعيش هؤلاء الناس، و ماذا كانوا يقولون؟و ماذا حل بهم؟ فذلك ما لا اذكره، و إنما اذكر بعض الحرائق، بل اثنتين منها. لقد افلت مني كل شيء و باتت نفسي مغلقة كمنزل مهجور. إنها عمياء صماء.

I guess they were telling the truth when they said you carried forbidden books to the factory." "Who said so?" asked Pavel. "Oh, people. Well, good-by! Behave yourselves!" The mother laughed softly; she was pleased to hear that such things were said of her. Pavel smilingly turned to her: "Oh, you'll get into prison, mother!" "I don't mind," she murmured.

We know nothing, and in terror we fear everything. Our life is night, a dark night;

When a man can call his mother his own in spirit also—that's rare fortune!

From where do the people draw their power to suffer?" "They get used to it," responded the mother with a sigh.

I don't ask you to believe me; I want you just to listen to me!" And if they listen, they will believe.

Not everybody has overshoes and an umbrella, but everybody desires in some way, however small, to appear more important than his neighbor.

كان يخيل إليها أنهم جميعا ينظرون إلى جسد ابنها وأجساد رفاقه . ويتحدثون عن هذه الفتوة وعضلاتها التي تفور بالدم الحار والقوة الحية النابضة . فتضرم فيهم الحسد الكريه .. حسد المتسولين ، وتثير فيهم الشره الشديد ، شره المنهك والمريض ، فتتلمظ شفاهم ويتحسرون على هذه العضلات القادرة على ان تعمل وتثرى وتتمتع وتخلق . اما أجسادهم هم .. اجساد هؤلاء العجائز فإنها تجفو دورة الحياة الفاعلة وتنكرها ، وتفقد امكانية التمتع بقوتها ، وامكانية السيطرة على الحياة والتهامها ، ومن اجل ذلك كانت هذه الفتوة تثير في نفوس العجائز ميلا حقودا إلى الثأر ، كما يميل الوحش الجائع إلى اللحم الطري دون أن تكون لديه القدرة على امتلاكه ..فيزمجر بألم ويعوي بيأس ، ويعز عليه إلا ان يسلب من أمامه من صفاته التي تنقص في ذاته هو .. وبالمثل فقد أيقنت الأم أن هؤلاء العجائز سوف يقضون على ابنها بالنفي ..

Family life always diminishes the energy of a revolutionist. Children must be maintained in security ,and there's the need to work a great deal for one's break. The revolutionist ought without cease to develop every iota of his energy; he must deepen and broaden it; but this demands time. He must always be at the head, because we--the workingmen--are called by the logic of history to destroy the old world, to create the new life; and if we stop, if we yield to exhaustion, or are attracted by the possibility of a little immediate conquest, it's bad--it's almost treachery to the cause. No revolutionist can adhere closely to an individual--walk thorough life side by side with another individual--without distorting his faith; and we must never forget that our aim is not little conquests, but only complete victory!

the mother again remarked the simplicity and calmness of their relation to each other. it was hard for her to get used to it. no kissing, no affictionate words passed between them but they behaved so sincerely, so amicably and so solicitously toward each other. in the life she had been accustomed to, people kissed a great deal and uttered many sentimental words, but always bit at one another like hungry dogs.

For all, mother dear, for all! The world is ours! The world is for the workers! For us there is no nation, no race. For us there are only comrades and foes. All the workingmen are our comrades; all the rich, all the authorities are our foes. When you see how numerous we workingmen are, how tremendous the power of the spirit in us, then your heart is seized with such joy, such happiness, such a great holiday sings in your bosom! And,

Here is a Man coming and illuminating life with the light of reason, and he shouts: 'Oh, ho! you straying roaches! It's time, high time, for you to understand that all your interests are one, that everyone has the need to live, everyone has the desire to grow!' The Man who shouts this is alone, and therefore he cries aloud; he needs comrades, he feels dreary in his loneliness, dreary and cold. And at his call the staunch hearts unite into one great, strong heart, deep and sensitive as a silver bell not yet cast. And hark! This bell rings forth the message.. 'Men of all countries, unite into one family! Love is the mother of life, not hate!' My brothers! I hear this message sounding through the world!

ـ لقد مات. ومن جديد راح بصرها المستغفر يطوف بالحاضرين: ـ وماذا يعني ذلك؟ لقد مات. وماالذي مات؟ هل مات تقديري لايغور؟ هل مات شعوري نحوه؟ نحو الرفيق؟ هل ماتت ذكرى صنيع أفكاره؟ هل مات هذا الصنيع نفسه؟ هل انطفأت تلك المشاعر التي أيقظها فيّ؟ هل امّحت تلك الصورة التي رسمتها له في ذهني؟ صورة الانسان الباسل الشريف؟ هل مات هذا كله؟.. كلا ان ذلك ، في نظري ، لا يموت أبداً. أعرف ذلك، ويبدو لي أننا نتسرع كثيراً حين نقول عن انسان ما، انه مات. لقد ماتت شفتاه، ولكن كلماته ما برحت حية، وستظل الى الأبد، حية في قلوب الأحياء.

There was a young Jew in Kerch who wrote verses, and once he wrote: "And the innocently slain, Truth will raise to life again. "He himself was killed by the police in Kerch, but that's not the point. He knew the truth and did a great deal to spread it among the people.

This is the way it ought to be!" said the Little Russian, returning. "Because, mark you, mother dear, a new heart is coming into existence, a new heart is growing up in life. All hearts are smitten in the conflict of interests, all are consumed with a blind greed, eaten up with envy, stricken, wounded, and dripping with filth, falsehood, and cowardice. All people are sick; they are afraid to live; they wander about as in a mist. Everyone feels only his own toothache. But lo, and behold! Here is a Man coming and illuminating life with the light of reason, and he shouts: 'Oh, ho! you straying roaches! It's time, high time, for you to understand that all your interests are one, that everyone has the need to live, everyone has the desire to grow!' The Man who shouts this is alone, and therefore he cries aloud; he needs comrades, he feels dreary in his loneliness, dreary and cold. And at his call the stanch hearts unite into one great, strong heart, deep and sensitive as a silver bell not yet cast. And hark! This bell rings forth the message: 'Men of all countries, unite into one family! Love is the mother of life, not hate!' My brothers! I hear this message sounding through the world!

Meeting one another they spoke about the factory and the machines, had their fling against their foreman, conversed and thought only of matters closely and manifestly connected with their work. Only rarely, and then but faintly, did solitary sparks of impotent thought glimmer in the wearisome monotony of their talk.

You have nothing to tell me!" said Vyesovshchikov slowly. "Nothing! My heart is so—it seems to me as if wolves were howling there!" "And I don't want to say anything to you. Only I know that you'll get over this, perhaps not entirely, but you'll get over it!" He smiled, and added, tapping Nikolay on the back: "Why, man, this is a children's disease, something like measles! We all suffer from it, the strong less, the weak more. It comes upon a man at the period when he has found himself, but does not yet understand life, and his own place in life. And when you do not see your place, and are unable to appraise your own value, it seems that you are the only, the inimitable cucumber on the face of the earth, and that no one can measure, no one can fathom your worth, and that all are eager only to eat you up. After a while you'll find out that the hearts in other people's breasts are no worse than a good part of your own heart, and you'll begin to feel better. And somewhat ashamed, too! Why should you climb up to the belfry tower, when your bell is so small that it can't be heard in the great peal of the holiday bells? Moreover, you'll see that in chorus the sound of your bell will be heard, too, but by itself the old church bells will drown it in their rumble as a fly is drowned in oil. Do you understand what I am saying?" "Maybe I understand," Nikolay said, nodding. "Only I don't believe it." The

His reading habit was so varied that in his early teens, he was reading both Maxim Gorky’s Mother and the detective thrillers (Jasoosi Duniya) of Ibn-e-Safi. The detective thrillers—be it Indian or American pulp fiction—were a big favourite for their fast action, tight plots and economies of expression. He remembers the novels of Ibn-e-Safi for their fascinating characters with memorable names. ‘Ibn-e-Safi was a master at naming his characters. All of us who read him remember those names . . . There was a Chinese villain, his name was Sing Hi. There was a Portuguese villain called Garson . . . an Englishman who had come to India and was into yoga . . . was called Gerald Shastri.’ This technique of giving catchy names to characters would stay with him. The wide range of reading not only gave him the sensitivity with which progressive writers approached their subjects but also a very good sense of plot and speaking styles. Here, it would be apt to quote a paragraph from Ibn-e-Safi’s detective novel, House of Fear—featuring his eccentric detective, Imran. The conversation takes place just outside a nightclub: ‘So, young man. So now you have also starred frequenting these places?’ ‘Yes. I often come by to pay Flush,’ Imran said respectfully. ‘Flush! Oh, so now you play Flush . . .’ ‘Yes, yes. I feel like it when I am a bit drunk . . .’ ‘Oh! So you have also started drinking?’ ‘What can I say? I swear I’ve never drunk alone. Frequently I find hookers who do not agree to anything without a drink . . .’ This scene would find a real-life parallel as well as a fictional one in Javed’s life later. Javed

Kalau engkau menaruh tembaga di dalam makanan bayi, tembaga itu akan menghambat pertumbuhan bayi dan menjadikannya kurcaci, tetapi kalau kau meracuni seseorang dengan emas, jiwanya menjadi terhambat--kecil, kelabu, dan tanpa daya hidup, seperti bola karet yang dibeli anak-anak seharga lima kopek.

... kenyataannya, orang yang paling sering bercanda adalah orang yang paling sering menderita.

In European music-halls scores and hundreds of women appear nude on the stage. Does it not strike you that such a public exhibition of the naked female ought to call forth some protest from the mothers, wives, and sisters of the European intellectuals? I am discussing the significance of this cynical pastime not from the ‘moral’ point of view but with an eye to biology and social hygiene. To me this vile and vulgar pastime is indisputable proof of the savagery and of the deep-going decadence of the European bourgeoisie. I am convinced that the evident and rapid growth of homosexuality and Lesbianism, which find their economic explanation in the high cost of family life, is accelerated by this disgusting public spectacle of burlesque women.

Life flowed on swiftly. The days were diversified and full of color. Each one brought with it something new, and the new ceased to alarm the mother. Strangers came to the house in the evening more and more frequently, and they talked with Andrey in subdued voices with an engrossed air. Late at night they went out into the darkness, their collars up, their hats thrust low over their faces, noiselessly, cautiously. All seemed to feel a feverish excitement, which they kept under restraint, and had the air of wanting to sing and laugh if they only had the time. They were all in a perpetual hurry. All of them--the mocking and the serious, the frank, jovial youth with effervescing strength, the thoughtful and quiet--all of them in the eyes of the mother were identical in the persistent faith that characterized them; and although each had his own peculiar cast of countenance, for her all their faces blended into one thin, composed, resolute face with a profound expression in its dark eyes, kind yet stern, like the look in Christ's eyes on his way to Emmaus.

La fatiga acumulada durante largos años les quitaba el apetito, y, para comer, bebían mucho, excitándose el estómago con el fuego abrasador de la vodka.

Bu ziddiy'ti duyan ana biixtiyar Rıbinin sözlərini yadına salırdı: "Allah ilə də bizi aldadıblar!" И невольно вспоминались ей слова Рыбина: «И богом обманули нас!»

Bu ziddiyəti duyan ana biixtiyar Rıbinin sözlərini yadına salırdı: "Allah ilə də bizi aldadıblar!" И невольно вспоминались ей слова Рыбина: «И богом обманули нас!»

In the small room a vast feeling was born of the universal kinship of the workers of the world, at the same time its masters and its slaves, who had already been freed from the bondage of prejudice and who felt themselves the new masters of life. This feeling blended all into a single soul; it moved the mother, and, although inaccessible to her, it straightened and emboldened her, as it were, with its force, with its joys, with its triumphant, youthful vigor, intoxicating, caressing, full of hope.

tone, and, it seemed to her, angrily, like his father: "This fear is what is the ruin of us all. And some dominate us; they take advantage of our fear and frighten us still more. Mark this: as long as people are afraid, they will rot like the birches in the marsh. We must grow bold; it is time!

information that Volkov runs the primary supply routes for small arms and other supplies between Russia and the rebels in Donetsk.” “Can’t we just call in an air strike?” Max muttered. He was squatting next to Kate, peering through the darkness with a pair of night-vision binoculars and listening on a separate earpiece. Silver moonlight illuminated Max’s face and Kate found herself admiring his profile. He was even more handsome than when they first met several months ago outside Minsk. Back then, he was recovering from a two-foot piece of rebar that had impaled his side. Despite the constant strain of trying to keep his family alive, she noticed he was thriving under the pressure. A simmering fire burned behind the deep blackness of his eyes. He was bred for this sort of thing. Kate almost felt sorry for the consortium members, knowing Max wouldn’t rest until they were all dead and buried. Max’s eyes flashed when he looked over at her, reminding her of the strength he possessed. When he held her gaze, she saw a powerful conviction, the confidence he had gained after surviving in the face of overwhelming danger, a resolve emanating from the depths of his soul, an aura she couldn’t help but be attracted to. The moment lingered even as his eyes moved back to the binoculars and he went back into the dark recesses of his mind. She fought back the attraction, willing it to a place somewhere out of reach. She was bad at love. She had a habit of falling fast and hard before paying the price as things fell apart. As she got older, she found she didn’t want to bother with it anymore. It was too much work, too much of a distraction from what drove her. Besides, she couldn’t imagine there was room in his heart while he fought for his family’s survival. She touched his bicep. “If you’re from Belarus, and your given name was Mikhail, how did you end up with the nickname Max?” He kept his eyes glued to the field glasses. “It’s short for Maxim, a common name in Belarus. My mother started calling me Max when I was young. She said—” “Your surrogate mother?” “Right. The mother who raised me. She told me that she lost an argument with my father. She wanted to name me after Maxim Gorky, a Soviet Marxist writer and comrade of Lenin’s. My father wouldn’t hear of it. I think it was her

I will have nothing to lean upon in my distress if you take my God away from me.