You will hear thunder and remember me, and think: she wanted storms.

— Anna Akhmatova

The most fascinating Anna Akhmatova quotes that may be undiscovered and unusual

My shadow serves as the friend I crave


Natural thunder heralds the wetness of fresh water high clouds to quench the thirst of fields gone dry and parched, a messenger of blessed rain, but this was as dry as hell must be. My distraught perception refused to believe it, because of the insane suddenness with which it sounded, swelled and hit, and how casually it came to murder my child.


It is unbearably painful for the soul to love silently.


I am in the middle of it: chaos and poetry;

poetry and love and again, complete chaos. Pain, disorder, occasional clarity; and at the bottom of it all: only love; poetry. Sheer enchantment, fear, humiliation. It all comes with love


Sunset in the ethereal waves: I cannot tell if the day is ending, or the world, or if the secret of secrets is inside me again.


You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms.

The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.


Forgive me, that I manage badly, Manage badly but live gloriously, That I leave traces of myself in my songs, That I appeared to you in waking dreams.


Call me a sinner, Mock me maliciously: I was your insomnia, I was your grief.


This cruel age has deflected me, like a river from this course.

Strayed from its familiar shores, my changeling life has flowed into a sister channel. How many spectacles I've missed: the curtain rising without me, and falling too. How many friends I never had the chance to meet.


A land not mine, still forever memorable, the waters of its ocean chill and fresh. Sand on the bottom whiter than chalk, and the air drunk, like wine, late sun lays bare the rosy limbs of the pinetrees. Sunset in the ethereal waves: I cannot tell if the day is ending, or the world, or if the secret of secrets is inside me again.


Real tenderness can't be confused, It's quiet and can't be heard.


In the terrible years of the Yezhov terror I spent seventeen months waiting in line outside the prison in Leningrad. One day somebody in the crowd identified me . . . and asked me in a whisper . . . "Can you describe this?" And I said: "I can."


About Anna Akhmatova

Quotes 69 sayings
Nationality Russian
Profession Poet
Birthday June 23, 1889

Hands, matches, an ashtray. A ritual beautiful and bitter.


The stars of death stood over us. And Russia, guiltless, beloved, writhed under the crunch of bloodstained boots, under the wheels of Black Marias.


We aged a hundred years, and this happened in a single hour: the short summer had already died, the body of the ploughed plains smoked.


I myself, from the very beginning, Seemed to myself like someone's dream or delirium Or a reflection in someone else's mirror, Without flesh, without meaning, without a name. Already I knew the list of crimes That I was destined to commit.


Sweet to me was not the voice of man, But the wind's voice was understood by me.

The burdocks and the nettles fed my soul, But I loved the silver willow best of all.


Not, not mine: it's somebody else's wound;

I could never have borne it. So take the thing that happened, hide it, stick it in the ground; whisk the lamps away.


I have long had this premonition of a bright day and a deserted house


Give me bitter years of sickness, Suffocation, insomnia, fever, Take my child and my lover, And my mysterious gift of song This I pray at your liturgy After so many tormented days, So that the stormcloud over darkened Russia Might become a cloud of glorious rays.


It was a time when only the dead smiled, happy in their peace.


I go forth to seek To seek and claim the lovely magic garden Where grasses softly sigh and Muses speak.


We thought: we're poor, we have nothing, but when we started losing one after the other so each day became remembrance day, we started composing poems about God's great generosity and our former riches.


... he is rewarded with a form of eternal childhood, with the bounty and vigilance of the stars, the whole world was his inheritance and he shared it with everyone.


Mary Magdalene beat her breasts and sobbed, His dear disciple, stone-faced, stared. His mother stood apart. No other looked into her secret eyes. Nobody dared.


Courage: Great Russian word, fit for the songs of our children's children, pure on their tongues, and free.


No foreign sky protected me, no stranger's wing shielded my face.

I stand as witness to the common lot survivor of that time, that place.


Song falls silent, music is dumb, But the air burns with their fragrance, And white winter, on its knees, Observes everything with reverent attention.


Wild honey smells of freedom The dust - of sunlight The mouth of a young girl, like a violet But gold - smells of nothing.


I should be proud to have my memory graced, but only if the monument be placed.

.. here, where I endured three hundred hours in line before the implacable iron bars.


Now no one will listen to songs. The prophesied days have begun. Latest poem of mine, the world has lost its wonder, Don't break my heart, don't ring out.


The triumphs of a mysterious non-meeting are desolate ones; unspoken phrases, silent words.


Who will grieve for this woman? Does she not seem too insignificant for our concern? Yet in my heart I never will deny her, Who suffered death because she chose to turn.


A loss, but who still mourns the breath of one woman, or laments one wife? Though my heart never can forget, how, for one look, she gave up her life.


A choir of angels glorified the hour, the vault of heaven was dissolved in fire.

"Father, why hast Thou forsaken me? Mother, I beg you, do not weep for me.


Your voice is wild and simple. You are untranslatable Into any one tongue.


And it seemed to me that there were fires Flying till dawn without number And I never found out things-those Strange eyes of his-what colour? Everything trembling and singing and Were you my enemy or my friend, Winter was it or summer?


The whole time I was hoping my silence would fit yours and exclamation marks would gently float across time and space so that boundaries would be crossed; the whole time I was praying you would read my eyes and understand what I was never able to understand. See, we were never about butterflies. We’ve always been about burning stars. All about us is unearthly and radiant.


Today I have so much to do: I must kill memory once and for all, I must turn my soul to stone, I must learn to live again. Unless ... Summer's ardent rustling is like a festival outside my window.


I seem to myself, as in a dream, Am accidental guest in this dreadful body.


Rising from the past, my shadow Is running in silence to meet me.


This land, although not my native land, Will be remembered forever.

And the sea's lightly iced, Unsalty water. The sand on the bottom is whiter than chalk, The air is heady, like wine, And the rosy body of the pines Is naked in the sunset hour. And the sunset itself on such waves of ether That I just can't comprehend Whether it is the end of the day, the end of the world, Or the mystery of mysteries in me again.


Let whoever wants to, relax in the south, And bask in the garden of paradise.

Here is the essence of north—and it's autumn I've chosen as this year's friend.


The secret of secrets is inside me again.


No, not under the vault of another sky, not under the shelter of other wings.

I was with my people then, there where my people were doomed to be.


The word landed with a stony thud Onto my still-beating breast.

Nevermind, I was prepared, I will manage with the rest. I have a lot of work to do today; I need to slaughter memory, Turn my living soul to stone Then teach myself to live again. . . But how. The hot summer rustles Like a carnival outside my window; I have long had this premonition Of a bright day and a deserted house.


We are all carousers and loose women here; How unhappy we are together!


This Cruel Age has deflected me.


I know beginnings, I know endings too, and life-in-death, and something else I'd rather not recall just now.