Ivan Bunin > Quotes

“Words are one thing, deeds are quite another.”
― Ivan Bunin

“Человека делают счастливым 3 вещи: любовь, интересная работа и возможность путешествовать.”
― Иван Бунин

“And the years came and went, the decades. But now it's no longer possible to put it off any more: either now or never. The one final opportunity must be taken, for the hour is late and nobody will come upon me.”
― Ivan Bunin

“Everyone is silent, under the spell of the song. But it is strange: that desperate sorrow and that bitter reproach with which it throbs are sweeter than the most sublime, most passionate joy.”
― Ivan Bunin, The Gentleman from San Francisco and Other Stories

“Having shaved, washed, and dexterously arranged several artificial teeth, standing in front of the mirror, he moistened his silver-mounted brushes and plastered the remains of his thick pearly hair on his swarthy yellow skull. He drew on to his strong old body, with its abdomen protuberant from excessive good living, his cream-colored silk underwear, put black silk socks and patent-leather slippers on his flat-footed feet. He put sleeve-links in the shining cuffs of his snow-white shirt, and bending forward so that his shirt front bulged out, he arranged his trousers that were pulled up high by his silk braces, and began to torture himself, putting his collar-stud through the stiff collar. The floor was still rocking beneath him, the tips of his fingers hurt, the stud at moments pinched the flabby skin in the recess under his Adam's apple, but he persisted, and at last, with eyes all strained and face dove-blue from the over-tight collar that enclosed his throat, he finished the business and sat down exhausted in front of the pier glass, which reflected the whole of him, and repeated him in all the other mirrors.

" It is awful ! " he muttered, dropping his strong, bald head, but without trying to understand or to know what was awful. Then, with habitual careful attention examining his gouty-jointed short fingers and large, convex, almond-shaped finger-nails, he repeated : " It is awful. . . .”
― Ivan Bunin, The Gentleman from San Francisco and Other Stories

“In October I confessed my love for her, and she allowed me to kiss her.”
― Ivan Bunin, The Collected Stories

“The middle of the 'Atlantis' the warm, luxurious cabins,ining-rooms, halls, shed light and joy, buzzed with the chatter of an elegant crowd, was fragrant with fresh flowers, and quivered with the sounds of a string orchestra. And again amidst that crowd, amidst the brilliance of lights, silks, diamonds, and bare feminine shoulders, a slim and supple pair of hired lovers painfully writhed and at moments convulsively clashed. A sinfully discreet, pretty girl with lowered lashes and hair innocently dressed, and a tallish young man with black hair looking as if it were glued on, pale with powder, and wearing the most elegant patent-leather shoes and a narrow, long-tailed dress coat, a beau resembling an enormous leech. And no one knew that this couple had long since grown weary of shamly tormenting themselves with their beatific love-tortures, to the sound of bawdy-sad music ; nor did any one know of that thing which lay deep, deep below at the very bottom of the dark hold, near the gloomy and sultry bowels of the ship that was so gravely overcoming the darkness, the ocean, the blizzard.”
― Ivan Bunin, The Gentleman from San Francisco and Other Stories

“Yes, from year to year, from day to day, in our heart of hearts there's only one thing we wait for - a meeting that will bring happiness and love. Really, this hope is all we live for - and how vain it is.”
― Ivan Bunin, The Gentleman from San Francisco

“On the second and the third night there was again a ball -- this time in mid-ocean, during a furious storm sweeping over the ocean, which roared like a funeral mass and rolled up mountainous seas fringed with mourning silvery foam. The Devil, who from the rocks of Gibraltar, the stony gateway of two worlds, watched the ship vanish into night and storm, could hardly distinguish from behind the snow the innumerable fiery eyes of the ship. The Devil was as huge as a cliff, but the ship was even bigger, a many-storied, many-stacked giant, created by the arrogance of the New Man with his ancient heart.”
― Ivan Bunin, The Gentleman from San Francisco and Other Stories

“Youth goes by for everyone, but love... is quite another thing.”
― Ivan Alekseyevich Bunin, Темные аллеи. Жизнь Арсеньева

“Вероятно, у каждого из нас найдется какое-нибудь особенно дорогое любовное воспоминание или какой-нибудь особенно тяжкий любовный грех.”
― Иван Бунин, Тёмные аллеи

“На другой день по приезде в Сочи он купался утром в море, потом брился, надел чистое белье, белоснежный китель, позавтракал в своей гостинице на террасе ресторана, выпил бутылку шампанского, пил кофе с шартрезом, не спеша выкурил сигару. Возвратясь в свой номер, он лег на диван и выстрелил себе в виски из двух револьверов.”
― И.А. Бунин, Темные аллеи

“Yalınayaktı,eteğinin içine soktuğu yarım kollu gömleğini giymişti.Gömleğin altından dipdiri memeleri belli oluyordu.Geniş kesilmiş yakasından omuzları ve boynu görünüyordu.Sarı eşarpla bağlı başından, hem çocuksu hem de kadınsı çıplak ayaklarına kadar herşeyi öyle güzeldi ki onu şimdiye kadar hep süslenmiş gören Mitya bu yalın güzellik karşısında hayranlık duymaktan kendini alamadı.(Mitya'nın Aşkı Öyküsünden)”
― Ivan Bunin

“Kürtler oldukça yabani bir millet...Sabahtan akşama kadar tüm günlerini nerdeyse uyuyarak geçiriyorlardı.Gürcüler ise ya türkü saylüyor ya da arkaya doğru kolayca savrulan geniş kollu elbiseleriyle hoplayarak zıplayarak dans ediyor elleriyle tempo tutarak kalabalığın içinde süzülüyor,birbirlerine kur yapıyorlardı.( Gençlik ve Yaşlılık öyküsünden)”
― Ivan Bunin

“7 июня. Был в книжном магазине Ивасенки. Библиотека его «национализирована», книги продаются только тем, у кого есть «мандаты». И вот являются биндюжники, красноармейцы и забирают что попало: Шекспира, книгу о бетонных трубах, русское государственное право... Берут по установленной дешевой цене и надеются сбывать по дорогой. На фронт никто не желает идти. Происходят облавы «уклоняющихся». Целые дни подводы, нагруженные награбленным в магазинах и буржуазных домах, идут куда-то по улицам. Говорят, что в Одессу присланы петербургские матросы, беспощаднейшие звери. И правда, матросов стало в городе больше и вида они нового, раструбы их штанов чудовищные. Вообще очень страшно по улицам ходить. Часовые все играют винтовками, — того гляди, застрелит. Поминутно видишь — два хулигана стоят на панели и разбирают браунинг.”
― Ivan Bunin, Окаянные дни

“The boats bumped against the side of the ship, the sailors and passengers shouted lustily, and somewhere a child, as if crushed to death, choked itself with screaming. The damp wind blew through the doors, and outside on the sea, from a reeling boat which showed the flag of the Hotel Royal, a fellow with guttural French exaggeration yelled unceasingly : '* Rrroy-al ! Hotel Rrroy-al ! " intending to lure passengers aboard his craft. Then the Gentleman from San Francisco, feeling, as he ought to have felt, quite an old man, thought with anguish and spite of all these " Royals," " Splendids,' 1 " Excelsiors," and of these greedy, good-for-nothing, garlic-stinking fellows called Italians. Once, during a halt, on opening his eyes and rising from the sofa he saw under the rocky cliff-curtain of the coast a heap of such miserable stone hovels, all musty and mouldy, stuck on top of one another by the very water, among the boats, and the rags of all sorts, tin cans and brown fishing-nets, and,remembering that this was the very Italy he had come to enjoy, he was seized with despair. . .”
― Ivan Bunin, The Gentleman from San Francisco and Other Stories

“Видел себя во сне в море, бледно-молочной, голубой ночью, видел бледно-розовые огни какого-то парохода и говорил себе, что надо запомнить, что они бледно-розовые. К чему теперь все это?”
― Иван Бунин, Окаянные дни

“Kadınlarda bulunan güzellik,zerafet,anlaşılmazlık,olağanüsütülük, her şey herşey bu fotoğrafta vardı.Ve saf,kışkırırtıcı bakışlar...Bu yakın olduğu kadar uzak,yaşamın sonsuz mutluluğunu tattırdıktan ssonra kendini çeken ve belki de kendini şimdi utanmazsa aldatan varlığın bakışı bitmek bilmez bir gülümseyişle parlıyordu. (Mitya'nın Aşkı Öyküsünden)”
― Ivan Bunin

“В сущности, всем нам давно пора повеситься.”
― Иван Бунин, Окаянные дни

“Now there is a modern-day anthropology* for the criminal type: a great number of so-called 'born criminals' have pale faces, large cheekbones, a coarse lower jaw, and deeply shining eyes. How can one not recall this when one thinks of Lenin and thousands like him? How many pale faces, high cheekbones and strikingly asymmetric features mark the soldiers of the Red Army and, generally speaking, also of the common Russian people - how many of them, these savage types, have Mongolian atavism directly in their blood! They are all from Murom, the white-eyed Chud. And it is precisely these individuals, these very Russichi, who gave us so many 'daring pirates', so many vagabonds, escapees, scoundrels and tramps - it is precisely these people whom we have recruited for the glory, pride and hope of the Russian social revolution. So why should we feign surprise at the results?”
― Ivan Bunin, Cursed Days: Diary of a Revolution

“Ve yine her zamanki gibi,ince,çevik kiralık sevgililer alevlerin parıltısı,ipekler,elmaslar ve açık kadın omuzları arasında kıvrılıyor ve dans ediyordu.(San Fransiskolu Adam adlı öyküden)”
― Ivan Bunin

“— В моей молодости, — рассказывал он, — был у нас приятель, бедный человек, вдруг купивший однажды на последние гроши заводную металлическую канарейку. Мы голову сломали, ища объяснение этому нелепому поступку, пока не вспомнили, что приятель наш просто ужасно глуп.”
― Ivan Bunin, Окаянные дни

“Каждое утро делаю усилия одеваться спокойно, преодолевать нетерпение к газетам — и все напрасно. Напрасно старался и нынче. Холод, дождь, и все-таки побежал за этой мерзостью и опять истратил на них целых пять целковых.”
― Ivan Bunin, Окаянные дни

“It’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s the truth: if it were not for the misfortunes of the folk, thousands of our intellectuals would be profoundly unhappy people. How else could they have sat around and protested? What would they have cried and written about? Without the folk, life would not have been life for them.”
― Ivan Alekseyevich Bunin, Cursed Days: Diary of a Revolution

“Of! Korkunç bir şey,diye söylendi kel kafasını eğerek. Korkunç olanın ne olduğunu ne anlamaya çalıştı ne de üstünde düşündü.Sonra alışkanlıkla ve dikkatle eklem yerleri damla hastalığından bozulmuş kısa parmaklarına ve badem pembesi iri,çıkıntılı turnaklarına baktı ve emin olarak "korkunç" diye yineledi. (Sanfransiskolu Adam adlı öyküsünden)”
― Ivan Bunin

“Bahçenizdeki kulube var ya...İşte oraya gelirim.Yalnız beni aldatmaya kalkmayın bedavaya olmaz. Alyonka gülümseyen gözleriyle Mitya'ya bakarak: Burası Moskova değil, diye ekledi.Orda kadınlar üste para veriyorlarmış... (Mitya'nın Aşkı öyküsünden)”
― Ivan Bunin

“Dostoevsky once said: “Give to all teachers ample opportunity to destroy the old society and to build a new one, and the result will be such darkness, such chaos, such unheard-of coarseness, blindness, and inhumanity, that the entire structure will collapse under the curses of humankind even before it is completed . . .”1”
― Ivan Alekseyevich Bunin, Cursed Days: Diary of a Revolution

“Вообще, теперь самое страшное, самое ужасное и позорное даже не сами ужасы и позоры, а то, что надо разъяснять их, спорить о том, хороши они или дурны.”
― Ivan Alekseyevich Bunin, Окаянные дни

“Был В. Катаев (молодой писатель). Цинизм нынешних молодых людей прямо невероятен. Говорил: «За сто тысяч убью кого угодно. Я хочу хорошо есть, хочу иметь хорошую шляпу, отличные ботинки...»”
― Ivan Bunin, Окаянные дни

“План наш был дерзок: уехать в одном и том же поезде на кавказское побережье и прожить там в каком-нибудь совсем диком месте три-четыре недели. Я знал это побережье, жил когда-то некоторое время возле Сочи, — молодой, одинокий, — на всю жизнь запомнил те осенние вечера среди чёрных кипарисов, у холодных серых волн...”
― Иван Бунин, Тёмные аллеи