Vladimir Mayakovsky Quotes
Art must not be concentrated in dead shrines called museums. lt must be spread everywhere – on the streets, in the trams, factories, workshops, and in the workers' homes.
Our planet is poorly equipped for delight. One must snatch gladness from the days that are. In this life it's not difficult to die. To make life is more difficult by far.
If you wish, I shall grow irreproachably tender: not a man, but a cloud in trousers!
Listen! If stars are lit It means there is someone who needs it, It means someone wants them to be, That someone deems those specks of spit Magnificent!
I want to be understood by my country, but if I fail to be understood - what then?, I shall pass through my native land to one side, like a shower of slanting rain.
Gentle souls! You play your love on the violin. The crude ones play it on the drums violently. But can you turn yourselves inside out, like me And become just two lips entirely?
On the pavement of my trampled soul the steps of madmen weave the prints of rude crude words.
Love's ship has foundered on the rocks of life. We're quits: stupid to draw up a list of mutual sorrows, hurts and pains.
But I, from poetry's skies, plunge into communism, because without it I feel no love.
In our language rhyme is a barrel. A barrel of dynamite. The line is a fuse. The line smoulders to the end and explodes; and the town is blown sky-high in a stanza.
If you like I'll be furious flesh elemental, or- changing to tones that the sunset arouses- if you like- I'll be extraordinary gentle, not a man but - a cloud in trousers.
I understand the power and the alarm of words - Not those that they applaud from theatre-boxes, but those which make coffins break from bearers and on their four oak legs walk right away.
There’s no grandfatherly fondness in me, There are no gray hairs in my soul! Shaking the world with my voice and grinning, I pass you by, - handsome, Twentytwoyearold.
On I’ll pass, dragging my huge love behind me. On what feverish night, deliria-ridden, by what Goliaths was I begot – I, so big and by no one needed?
Too slow, the wagons of years, The oxen of days--too glum. Our god is the god of speed, Our heart--our battle-drum.
Comrade life, let us march faster, March faster through what's left of the five-year plan.
A line is a fuse that's lit. The line smolders, the rhyme explodes— and by a stanza a city is blown to bits.
My verse has brought me no roubles to spare: no craftsmen have made mahogany chairs for my house.
Have you seena dog lick the hand that thrashed it?!
On I’ll pass, dragging my huge love behind me.On whatfeverish night, deliria-ridden, by what Goliaths was I begot – I, so bigand by no one needed?
Listen! If stars are litIt means there is someone who needs it, It means someone wants them to be, That someone deems those specks of spitMagnificent!
