They stood brow to brow, brown to white, black to black, he supporting her elbows, she playing her limp light fingers over his collarbone, and how he "ladored,"he said, the dark aroma of her hair blending with crushed lily stalks,… — Vladimir Mayakovsky Copy Share Image
If you like I'll be furious flesh elemental, or- changing to tones that the sunset arouses- if you like- I'll be extraordinary gentle, not… — Vladimir Mayakovsky Copy Share
I understand the power and the alarm of words - Not those that they applaud from theatre-boxes, but those which make coffins break from… — Vladimir Mayakovsky Copy Share
Our planet is poorly equipped for delight. One must snatch gladness from the days that are. In this life it's not difficult to die.… — Vladimir Mayakovsky Copy Share
Comrade life, let us march faster, March faster through what's left of the five-year plan. — Vladimir Mayakovsky Copy Share
On the pavement of my trampled soul the steps of madmen weave the prints of rude crude words. — Vladimir Mayakovsky Copy Share
“You entered, Abrupt like “Take it!”, Mauling suede gloves, you tarried, And said: “You know,- I’m soon getting married.” Get married then. It’s all… — Vladimir Mayakovsky Copy Share
“Soon, sampled by everyone, Stale and pallid, I’ll come out And mumble toothlessly That today I’m “Remarkably candid.” — Vladimir Mayakovsky Copy Share
“Men, crumpled like bed-sheets in hospitals, And women, battered like overused proverbs.” — Vladimir Mayakovsky Copy Share
Gentle souls! You play your love on the violin. The crude ones play it on the drums violently. But can you turn yourselves inside… — Vladimir Mayakovsky Copy Share
“Then there's amortization, the deadliest of all; amortization of the heart and soul.” — Vladimir Mayakovsky Copy Share
“Oleg Bard: I understand, but by virtue of that power of imagination which, according to [Georgi] Plekhanov, is granted to Marxists, I can already… — Vladimir Mayakovsky Copy Share
A line is a fuse that's lit. The line smolders, the rhyme explodes— and by a stanza a city is blown to bits. — Vladimir Mayakovsky Copy Share
“Love for us is no paradise of arbors — to us love tells us, humming, that the stalled motor of the heart has started… — Vladimir Mayakovsky Copy Share
