Quotes about autumn from Russian poets
Nothing inspires poets, artists of words and rhymes more than the seasons. Poems written by Russian poets in the autumn period are full of both tragedy and admiration.
“The golden autumn has come. Nature is trembling, pale, Like a sacrifice, magnificently decorated...” A.S. Pushkin
"Autumn. An ancient corner of old books, clothes, weapons, where the catalog of treasures is leafed through by the cold.” B.L. Parsnip
“Autumn has spread in the wet valleys, It has exposed the cemeteries of the earth, But the dense rowan trees in the passing villages The red color will begin to glow from afar.” A.A. Block
“I’m sad to look at you, What pain, what a pity! You know, only willow copper was left with you in September.” S.A. Yesenin
"Autumn. The trees in the alley are like warriors. Each tree smells differently. The Army of the Lord." M.I. Tsvetaeva
“And every autumn I bloom again.” A.S. Pushkin
Quotes about autumn from Russian writers
Russian writers express their attitude towards autumn, both in short but deep thoughts and in long, ornate sentences.
“It smells like autumn. And I love Russian autumn. Something unusually sad, welcoming and beautiful. I would take it and fly away somewhere with the cranes.” A.P. Chekhov
“...I love how they sing to the accompaniment of a barrel organ on a cold, dark and damp autumn evening, certainly on a damp one, when all passers-by have pale green and sick faces...” F.I. Dostoevsky
“Autumn came suddenly. This is how a feeling of happiness comes from the most unnoticeable things - from a distant steamship whistle on the Oka River or from a random smile.” K.G. Paustovsky
“...autumn is outside, and in the fall a person, like all animals, seems to withdraw into himself. Look, the birds are already flying away - look how the cranes fly! “she said, pointing high above the Volga to a curved line of black dots in the air.” I.A. Goncharov
“I went to bed sick and woke up sick. It suddenly seemed to me that the autumn darkness would squeeze out the glass, pour into the room and I would choke in it like in ink.” M.A. Bulgakov
In autumn.
Chekhov A.P.in autumn
// Chekhov A.P. Complete works and letters: In 30 volumes. Works: In 18 volumes / USSR Academy of Sciences. Institute of World Lit. them. A. M. Gorky. - M.: Nauka, 1974-1982.
T. 2. [Stories. Humoresque], 1883-1884. — M.: Science, 1975
. — P. 236-241.
IN AUTUMN
It was close to night.
In Uncle Tikhon's tavern there was a group of cab drivers and pilgrims. They were driven into the tavern by an autumn downpour and a frantic wet wind that whipped their faces like a whip. Wet and tired travelers sat on benches near the walls and dozed, listening to the wind. Boredom was written on their faces. One cab driver, a little guy with a pockmarked, scratched face, had a wet accordion lying on his lap: he was playing and mechanically stopped.
Above the door, around the dim, greasy lantern, rain splashes flew. The wind howled like a wolf, screamed and, apparently, tried to rip the tavern door off its hinges. From the yard one could hear the snorting of horses and splashing in the mud. It was damp and cold.
Behind the counter sat Uncle Tikhon himself, a tall, big-faced man with sleepy, swollen eyes. In front of him, on this side of the counter, stood a man of about forty, dressed dirty, more than cheaply, but intelligently. He was wearing a rumpled summer coat soaked in mud, tarp trousers and rubber galoshes on his bare feet. His head, hands put in his pockets, and his thin, prickly elbows were shaking as if in a fever. From time to time, a slight spasm ran through the entire emaciated body, from the terribly wasted face to the rubber galoshes.
- For Christ's sake! - he asked Tikhon in a broken, rattling tenor. - A glass... this small one. In debt!
- Okay... There are a lot of you scoundrels hanging around here!
The scoundrel looked at Tikhon with contempt, with hatred. He would kill him if he could!
- Understand, you are such a fool, ignorant! I’m not asking, my gut, to put it in your own way, in a peasant’s way, is asking! My illness is asking! Understand!
- There is nothing for us to understand. Go away...
- After all, if I don’t drink now, understand this, if I don’t satisfy my passion, then I can commit a crime! God knows what I can do! You, boor, have seen a lot of drunk people in your tavern life; Have you really still not been able to understand what kind of people these are? These are sick! Put them on a chain, beat them, cut them, and give them vodka! Well, I humbly ask! Do me a favor! I humiliate myself... My God, how I humiliate myself!
The scoundrel shook his head and slowly spat.
- Give me the money, then there will be vodka! - said Tikhon.
- Where can I get money? Everything is drunk! Everything's gone!
There's only one coat left. I can’t give it to you, because it’s on my naked body... Do you want a hat?
The scoundrel handed Tikhon his drape cap, from which cotton wool peeked out here and there. Tikhon took the hat, looked at it and shook his head negatively.
“And it’s not worth it for nothing...” he said. - Manure...
- What kind of rogue are you? What kind of person? Why did you come?
- I want a drink. I don’t want it, my illness does! Understand!
- Why are you bothering me? There are many of you. defamed, staggering along the high road! Go out and ask the Orthodox, let them treat you for Christ’s sake if they wish, but I only serve bread for Christ’s sake. Bastard!
- Take it from them, the poor people, and I... I’m sorry! It’s not for me to rob them! Not for me!
The scoundrel suddenly stopped his speech, blushed and turned to the pilgrims:
- But this is an idea, Orthodox! Donate a nickel! The gut is asking! Is ill!
“Drink some water,” the guy with the pockmarked face grinned.
The scoundrel felt ashamed. He coughed and fell silent. A minute later he again begged Tikhon. In the end he began to cry and began to offer his wet coat for a glass of vodka. In the darkness they did not see his tears, and they did not accept his coat, because there were praying men in the tavern who did not want to see male nudity.
- What should I do now? - the scoundrel asked quietly in a voice full of despair. - What to do? I can't help but drink. Otherwise, I will commit a crime or decide to commit suicide... What should I do?
He walked around the tavern.
A postal carriage arrived with bells. The wet postman entered the tavern, drank a glass of vodka and left. The mail moved on.
“I’ll give you one golden thing,” the scoundrel turned to Tikhon, suddenly becoming pale as a sheet. - If you please, I'll give it to you. So be it... Even though it’s vile and disgusting on my part, take it... I’ll do this nasty thing, being insane... And at the trial I would be acquitted... Take it, but only on the condition: return it to me later, when I go back. I give it to you in front of witnesses...
The scoundrel reached into his bosom with a wet hand and pulled out a small gold medallion. He opened it and glanced at the portrait.
“I should take the portrait out, but I have nowhere to put it: I’m all wet.” To hell with you, rob with a portrait. Only on condition... My darling, dear... I ask... Don’t touch that face with your fingers... I beg you, darling! Please forgive me for being rude, for speaking rudely to you... I’m stupid... Don’t touch this face with your fingers and don’t look with your eyes...
Tikhon took the medallion, looked at the sample and put it in his pocket.
“A stolen watch,” he said, pouring a glass. - Well, okay... drink...
The drunkard took the glass in his hands, flashed his eyes at him as much as his drunken, cloudy eyes had the strength to sparkle, and drank... drank with feeling, with convulsive attention. Having drunk the medallion with the portrait, he shamefully lowered his eyes and went to the corner. There he sat down on a bench near the praying mantis, cowered and closed his eyes.
Half an hour passed in silence and silence. Only the wind made noise, singing its autumn rhapsody in the trumpet. The praying mantises began to pray to God and silently settle down under the benches for the night. Tikhon opened the medallion and looked at the woman’s head, smiling from the golden frame at the tavern, Tikhon, and the bottles.
A cart creaked in the yard. There was a sound of “tpprr” and a splashing sound in the mud... A little man in a long sheepskin coat and a pointed beard ran into the tavern. He was wet and dirty.
- Well, kasya! - he shouted, banging his nickel on the counter. - A glass of real Madeira! Pour it up!
And, swiveling around on one leg, he looked around at the whole company.
- There! Master! - he said. - Semyon Sergeich! Our gentlemen! A? Why on earth are you chilling in this tavern? Is there a place for you here? Eh... unhappy martyr!
The master looked at the little man and covered himself with his sleeve. The little man sighed, shook his head, waved both hands desperately and went to the counter to drink vodka.
“This is our master,” he whispered to Tikhon, nodding at the scoundrel. - Our landowner, Semyon Sergeich. Did you see what it's like? What kind of person do you look like now? A? That's it... drunkenness to what extent...
- I'm from his village. Four hundred miles away, from Akhtilovka... His father had serfs... Such a pity, brother! What a pity! He was such a nice gentleman... There he is, the horse in the yard! Do you see? He gave this to me for a horse! Ha ha! Fate!
Ten minutes later, cab drivers and pilgrims were sitting around the little man. In a quiet, nervous tenor, to the sound of autumn, he told them a story. Semyon Sergeich sat in the same corner, closing his eyes and muttering. He listened too.
“All this came out of cowardice,” said the little man, moving and gesticulating with his hands. - From fat... He was a rich gentleman, big, for the whole province... Eat, drink - I don’t want it! You probably saw it yourself... How many times have I driven past this very tavern in my stroller. He was rich... I remember, about five years ago, he rode through the Mikishkinsky ferry and instead of a nickel he threw away a ruble... Because of a trivial object, his ruin began. The first thing is because of the woman. He fell in love, dear, with a city girl... More than life. I fell in love with the crow more than the clear falcon... Marya Egorovna, the vile one, was nicknamed, and the surname is so wonderful that you can’t even pronounce it. He fell in love and got married, therefore, as is divinely required. And she, as you know, gave her consent, because he is not a foolish gentleman, he is solid and has money... I walked one evening, I remember this, through their garden; I look and they are sitting on a bench and kissing each other. He once, she, the snake, him - twice. He grabbed her hand, and she burst into flames! she clings to him like a fool!.. He says he loves you, Senya... And Senya, like a damned man, walks everywhere and foolishly boasts of his happiness... For one a ruble, for another two... He gave me a horse... He forgave all of us debts in joy . It was time for the wedding... They got married as it should be... Just when the gentlemen were to sit down to dinner, she ran away in a carriage... She ran to the city to the ablakat, to her lover. After the crown, the skin! A? At the very present moment! A? From then on, he went crazy, started drinking... That's how you see... He walks around like crazy, thinking about her, the skin. Loves! He must be going on foot to the city now to take a look at her... The second thing, brothers, where the ruin came from is the son-in-law, the sister’s husband... He decided to vouch for his son-in-law in a banking business... for thirty thousand... The son-in-law, it is known, knows, the rogue, his He doesn’t use his dog’s ear, but they took all thirty thousand from ours... A stupid man suffers for his stupidity... His wife and her ablakat have children, his son-in-law bought an estate near Poltava, and ours goes around like a fool to taverns and to our brother the peasant climbs with a complaint: “I have lost my faith, brothers! There’s no one I can trust in now!” Cowardice! Every person has his own grief, so drink it, then? Take us, for example, sergeant major. The wife takes the teacher to her house in broad daylight, swindles her husband’s money for drunkenness, and the foreman walks around and puts a smile on his face... He’s just lost his weight a little...
“To whom did God give what power?” Tikhon sighed.
The little man talked for a long time. When he finished, silence reigned in the tavern.
- Hey, you... what are you?... unhappy man! Go have a drink! - said Tikhon, turning to the master.
The master went up to the counter and drank his alms with pleasure...
- Give me the medallion for a moment! - he whispered to Tikhon. - I’ll just look and... give it back...
- Drink, master! Eh! It's good without vodka, but even better with vodka! With vodka and grief, no grief! Go ahead!
Having drunk five glasses, the master went to the corner, opened the medallion and with drunken, cloudy eyes began to look for his dear face... But the face was no longer there... It was scratched out of the medallion with the nails of the virtuous Tikhon.
The lantern flashed and went out. A praying mantis wandered patteringly in the corner. The little guy with the pockmarked face prayed aloud to God and stretched out on the counter. Someone else drove up... And the rain poured and poured... The cold became stronger and stronger, and it seemed that there would be no end to this vile, dark autumn. The master glared at the medallion and kept looking for the woman’s face... The candle went out.
Spring, where are you?
- IN AUTUMN
For the first time - “Alarm Clock”, 1883, No. 37 (censored September 24), pp. 343-344. Signed: A. Chekhonte.
Included in the first edition of the collection. “Motley Stories”, St. Petersburg, 1886.
186—193.
A. Leikin dated September 19, 1883 “...gave something to the Alarm Clock” can only refer to the story “In the Autumn”: other works of Chekhov did not appear in the Alarm Clock in September-October, and about two more published in This magazine in November-December (“In Moscow on Trubnaya Square” and “On Christmas Night”) contains additional information (see comments to these stories).
The story formed the basis of the plot of Chekhov’s dramatic sketch “On the High Road” (pictures I-III), written in 1884-1885. and prohibited by censorship.
Final phrase: “Spring, where are you?” - quoted in one of the letters of 1885 to Leikin (September, no later than 6).
Quotes about autumn from foreign writers
Foreign classics and ordinary writers were also inspired by the autumn period. This is probably the time of year when your soul becomes truly calm and peaceful.
“Autumn is like a hot dinner, when everything that you didn’t want to look at in the morning is eaten with appetite. And her world was entering its best time, just when the time had come to leave it.” Harper Lee
“Autumn has come, a wonderful, cool time, everything changes color and fades.” Knut Samsun
“—So bright, so uncompromising, she came and threw everything off herself. - You're lucky with the woman. “I’m talking about autumn.” Rinat Valiullin
“... By the way, the flowers of autumn are more colorful and luminous than those of summer, and they die earlier...” Erich Maria Remarque
“Autumn is the second spring, when every leaf is a flower.” Albert Camus
“Autumn is the last, most delightful smile of the year.” William Cullen Bryant
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Erich Maria Remarque. Shadows in Paradise
- ... maybe autumn is to blame for everything; I feel it more than you. In the fall, pacts are torn and everything becomes invalid. And the person wants... Yes, what does he want? - Love.
Tatiana Doronina
I love early autumn. At this time it seems: everything will still be fine.
Mark Levy. Those words that we didn't say to each other
Love also has autumn, and it is experienced by those who have forgotten the taste of the kisses of their loved one.
KREC - Autumn
Stop, taste the wind...
Anton Pavlovich Chekhov
Smells like autumn. And I love Russian autumn. Something unusually sad, welcoming and beautiful. I would take it and fly away somewhere with the cranes.
Albert Camus
Autumn is the second spring, when every leaf is a flower.
Nadeya Yasminska
In autumn, every woman is a little bit of a witch. After all, the crimson leaves awaken in the soul as ancient as the world, remembering fire with a mysterious potion - and its recipe deep inside.
Bella Akhatovna Akhmadulina
... With its touch, autumn will overshadow everything that was inviolable.
Kakinomoto no Asomi Hitomaro
In the autumn mountains - the maple is so beautiful, the foliage of the branches is thick - you can’t find the road!.. Where are you wandering there? - I’m looking for you in vain: I don’t know the mountain paths...
Nikolai Alekseevich Zabolotsky
The lovers' speeches are cut short, the last starling flies away. Silhouettes of crimson hearts fall from the maple trees all day long. What have you done to us, autumn! The earth freezes in red gold. The flame of sorrow whistles underfoot, stirring heaps of leaves.
Aleksey Ivanov. The geographer drank the globe
... fallen leaves floated along the ditch, like a letter torn to shreds, in which summer explained why it fled to the other hemisphere.
Al Quotion. Improvisation spare part
Autumn is the time of poets and thoughtful women, the time when the scales tip and the unbridled fury of life wanes. In autumn, dust settles. The dust of experiences hitting exposed nerves, the dust of crazy ideas and almost begun accomplishments. In autumn the sky cools down. And along with it, the bestial roar of passion cools down, becoming quiet, peaceful tenderness.
Christina Kashkan
The change of seasons should not be a cause for despondency. Take responsibility for your mood and get to work! Remember that only you can decide what this autumn will be for you - a dull time or an eye-catching one!
Its - Hey world
But we didn’t swear to each other, holding hands. Summer went by in English without saying goodbye. At least leave some warmth for me! Hello, autumn! Hello November.
Rinat Valiullin. Fifth season
“So bright, so uncompromising, she came and threw everything off herself. - You're lucky with the woman. - I'm talking about autumn.
Fleur - Warm autumn
Let's go into this warm autumn, into the fog, To the city strewn with leaves, in the sea of lights The heavenly screen showed the glow in the stars, While life is pleasant, let's enjoy it.
Elchin Safarli. You were promised to me
But, you know, I was probably looking forward to summer so much that I would miss autumn again. Through the slightly cold air and sad twilight. Wrap yourself in a scarf, warm your hands in your pockets... I'm crazy, right? All year I was in a hurry for summer, it came - and that’s it, I’m burning out. And it’s not the heat, I don’t get tired of it. It’s just that my character is more like autumn.
O.Henry. Last page
I want to see the last leaf fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to free myself from everything that holds me - to fly, to fly lower and lower, like one of these poor, tired leaves.
William Cullen Bryant
Autumn is the last, most delightful smile of the year.
Basta - Autumn
Autumn burst in with crazy winds, Heavy rains, cold days, sleepless nights, Yellow leaves, strange thoughts...
Alexey Purin
There is a gloomy thinning in autumn - as if the weariness of existence: it is so spacious that there is nothing to argue about and any road is yours. In this ghostly dim glow, where possibilities are inflamed, any desires are fulfilled... They just don’t name the prices.
RP, Marcel feat. Bird - Autumn Mood
The mood is autumn, I close my eyes and turn up the volume, If anyone asks me, I will answer: “I’m alive, the mood is autumn.”
Its - Hey world
But we didn’t swear to each other, holding hands. Summer went by in English without saying goodbye. At least leave some warmth for me! Hello, autumn! Hello November.
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Quotes about autumn from movies
Films allow us to enjoy the autumn beauty of the whole world. After all, autumn comes and decorates life and every person.
“Autumn is approaching like an inexorable army. And you understand that love is something more than the playful word of a frivolous woman.” From the film “Summer Rain”
“Before it gets cold, it gets warmer for a while.” From the film “Sleep with Me”
“The forest was silent... Only the golden leaves of the birch played a little, bathing in the sparkles of the sun... Ah, yellow forest, yellow forest... Here is a piece of happiness for you. Here's your place to think. In the autumn sunny forest a person becomes cleaner - yes, we all wish we could go to this yellow forest more often.” From the film “White Bim Black Ear”
