Quotes from Tatyana Tolstaya

Art has nothing to do with politics. It is the freest thing in the world.

I don't think people are fools, and I think they deserve a good attitude and smart entertainment.

People know that I am a very good author. But they would rather read what I have to say about the next election.

If there is a pattern, it will come back - maybe in Russia more than anywhere else, because it has collapsed so many times. Maybe less so here in the States, because here the society is so young.

In Russia, people suffer from the stillness of time.

For us, the best time is always yesterday.

I have enough energy to insist on saying what I think.

You, Book! You are the only one who won't deceive, won't attack, won't insult, won't abandon! You're quiet - but you laugh, shout, and sing: you're obedient - but you amaze, tease, and entice; you're small, but you contain countless peoples. Nothing but a handful of letters, that's all, but if you feel like it, you can turn heads, confuse, spin, cloud, make tears spring to the eyes, take away the breath, the entire soul will stir in the wind like a canvas, will rise in waves and flap its wings!

a book is a delicate friend, a white bird, an exquisite being, afraid of water. Darling things! Afraid of water, of fire, They shiver in the wind. Clumsy, crude human fingers leave bruises on them that'll never fade! Never! Some people touch books without washing their hands! Some underline things in ink! Some even tear pages out!

That's what poems are for, so you don't understand a thing.

The world may perish, but the meat grinder is indestructible.

And wanting nothing, regretting nothing, Peters smiled gratefully at life—running past, indifferent, ungrateful, treacherous, mocking, meaningless, alien—marvelous, marvelous, marvelous.

Golbuchiks? Golbuchiks are ashes, entrails, dung, stove smoke, clay, and they'll all return to clay. They're full of dirt, candle oil, droppings, dust. You, O Book, my pure, shining precious, my golden singing promise, my dream, a distant call— O tender specter, happy chance, Again I heed the ancient lore, Again with beauty rare in stance, You beckon from the distant shore!

Heavenly streams poured down, piercing the snow. It looked like someone had punctured it and blackened it with stone nails. The earth showed through in some places. Last year's rubbish surfaced on all the streets, in all the yards.

He knew how to build a bathhouse and heat the stones. True, his father didn't like to wash. Bears, he'd say, live just fine without any baths.

So most clothes are made from mouse skins, and that's not as good. Everyone knows that you can cut something from a big piece, but you can't keep your teeth warm with a mouse skin.

New art" derides the very idea of consolation, of enlightenment, of rising above—it derides it while taking pride in that derision, as it dances and celebrates.

No, not ten, not seconds, everything's different there, space slips away, and time collapses sideways like a ragged wave, and everything spins, spins like a top: there, one second is huge, slow, and resonant, like an abandoned cathedral, another is tiny, sharp, fast--you strike a match and burn up a thousand millennia; a step to the side--and you're in another universe....

and even if someone told us we'd forget

an unwanted man is a buyer with no money, and an unwanted woman is a seller with empty shelves. That is how, seemingly, the theme of the European financial crisis comes full circle.

Let's keep going. Decree Number Two. Holidays, more holidays. There you go again with an ungovernmental approach! First and foremost are civil liberties, not holidays. Why? What does it matter? Because! That's how revolution is always done: first the tyrant is overthrown, then the new Boss of everything is named, and then come civil liberties.

Eric's feelings are hurt. Women shouldn't say such things! They should say: 'I'll never, ever forget you! I'll never, ever stop loving you!' That's women lying plausibly out of respect for other people. Of course they'll forget. Everything is forgettable. In that lies salvation.

The best time is always yesterday.

If you have to be careful because of oppression and censorship, this pressure produces diamonds.