Russia (bbabo.net), - Cyclone "Nadya" covered St. Petersburg with snow, walked through Kaliningrad and is heading for Moscow. "Black evening. White snow. Wind, wind! No man stands on his feet," Blok wrote in The Twelve. "Frost and sun; wonderful day!" - we remember the famous Pushkin. But how did Russian writers and poets really feel about winter? Were you inspired, like Alexander Sergeevich, or were you moping? I read the diaries and letters of Russian writers that mention winter.
"It's bad that winter will come, but what can we do!"
"This winter is truly endless. You look out the window, and you want to spit. And gray snow lies, and lies on the roofs."
"No, I'm nowhere in the winter. The doctor asked me at my 15 degrees in the room:" What kind of old age are you preparing for yourself? "I answered:" Warm.
"Yes, what a meanness to be sentenced to such a climate, sometimes you ask yourself what crime you were exiled here for."
“There is such a disgusting cold winter that there is no urine: I don’t know if I will survive it, and I regret that I didn’t go abroad. Yes, the devil knew.”
"It's cold again; yesterday it was falling from the sky, some say hail, some snow, some grits, but whatever it is, it's disgusting."
"The cold is unbearable. Too lazy to move, too lazy to think. Time passes quietly and monotonously. If the room completely subsides, you can hear kerosene burning and quietly sizzling. The winter evening is long. Boring."
“Nadinka, my joy, just sent you a telegram - very stupid, but you understand everything. Don’t leave Yalta, my dove. Maybe I’ll come to you. You're in a hothouse corner here. All over Russia and Ukraine - now frost, then mud and thaw. From such a transition, Nadik, no one will be healthy ... Even I fell ill at first. Let's wait - well - at least the April heat, so that heels on dry sidewalks "Yes, Nadik?"
“This winter I didn’t go crazy again, and the winter looks like it’s over.”
"Through the frozen, snow-covered plush windows of the tram. Grey, hellish light. Afterlife."
bbabo.Net