N-no-o, all that excitement, it wouldn't reach us,' Timosha spoke gloomily. 'We're like the sunken city of Kitezh, living at the bottom of the lake. We do not hear a thing, and the water over us is muddy and sleepy. And on the surface, way above - why, everything's in flames, and the alarms are ringing.' (“A Provincial Tale”)
Yevgeny ZamyatinTag: revolution russian-revolution provincialism
What we need in literature today are vast philosophic horizons; we need the most ultimate, the most fearsome, the most fearless 'Why?' and 'What next?'
("Literature, Revolution, and Entropy")
Tag: art writing fearsome literaturem ultimate
But if I am not a criminal, I beg to be permitted to go abroad with my wife temporarily, for at least one year, with the right to return as soon as it becomes possible in our country to serve great ideas in literature without cringing before little men, as soon as there is at least a partial change in the prevailing view concerning the role of the literary artist. (“Letter To Stalin”)
Yevgeny ZamyatinTag: art writing expatriate dissident lierature
If circumstances should make it impossible (temporarily, I hope) for me to be a Russian writer, perhaps I shall be able, like the Pole Joseph Conrad, to become for a time an English writer... ("Letter To Stalin")
Yevgeny ZamyatinTag: joseph-conrad russian-literature russian-revolution russian-author
Literature is painting, architecture, and music.
Yevgeny ZamyatinTag: art music writing literature creativity architecture painting
The nights were long, like the braids of a pretty girl, and the days were short, like a girl's sense. ("The North")
Yevgeny ZamyatinThey do not need the sun. Who needs the sun when the eyes glow? Darkness. A woolen fog has wrapped the earth, has dropped a heavy curtain. From far away, from beyond the curtain, comes the sound of drops falling on stone. Far, far away - the autumn, people, tomorrow. ("The North")
Yevgeny ZamyatinTag: love
But you can't plead with autumn. No. The midnight wind stalked through the woods, hooted to frighten you, swept everything away for the approaching winter, whirled the leaves. ("The North")
Yevgeny ZamyatinThe moon hangs alien, heavy, like a lock on a door; the door is tightly shut. ("The North")
Yevgeny ZamyatinTag: moon
Ever since he repented of religion and shaved off his clerical beard and mustache, he has had the constant feeling that he has taken off his trousers, and that his nose protrudes altogether indecently and must at all cost be covered. It's sheer torment!
With one hand over his nose, the deacon knocks again and again. No one responds. And yet Martha is home; the gate is locked from within. And that means - what? It means that she is with someone else... The deacon punctuates the scene inwardly with the three dots we have graphically depicted just above, and, tripping over them at every second step, he proceeds to Rosa Luxemburg Street. ("X")
Tag: priest russian-revolution cleric
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