#pushkin

Художник Андрей Андрианов "Кот учёный". Фото с сайта: Ход истории поменять очень легко. Нужно просто отправиться в прошлое и кое-что в нём изменить. А потом уже все поверят, что так оно всегда

My dreams, my dreams! What has become of their sweetness? What indeed has become of my youth? #AlexanderPushkin

This great writer got a lot of statues, here is another one with his nanny.

Again photo of Pushkin but from far away with nice nature environment, Winter is very beautiful.

Pusking is world famous writer, here is photo of his statue in winter.

킵식스라는 그룹이 있었다. 흔히들 양현석이 처음 제작한 망한 그룹으로 알고 있다. 사실은 그렇게까지 망하지도 않았고, 노래를 들은 사람들은 시대를 앞서갔다는 말을 할 정도로 제법 세련되고 또 완성도 높은 음악을 한 그룹이다. 댄스그룹이었는데 둘은 춤을 잘추고 한명은 노래를 매우 잘했다. 같은 서태지와 아이들 출신의 이주노가 제작한 영턱스클럽의 너무도 큰 성공에

A sunny day but windy at Golden autumn in Pushkin and Catherine palace Camera Nikon D7000 Please support, vote up, reply and follow me to see my newer posts Thank you for visiting me! @antonyo

Pushkin, October 17, 2017 Camera Nikon D7000 by @antonyo

You are still given gods Golden days, golden nights, And the languid virgins are directed You have attentive eyes. Play, sing, o friends! Lose the fleeting evening; And your joy of carefree Through tears

On the quiet shores of Moscow Churches, crowned with crosses, Shining Old Heads Shine Above the monastery walls. All around they stretched out over the hills Forever not chopped groves. Have long been

You saw a maiden on a rock In white clothes over the waves, When, raging in a stormy haze, The sea played with the banks, When a ray of lightning lit up Her all-night glitter scarlet And the wind beat

If life deceives you, Do not be sad, do not be angry! In the day of despondency be reconciled: A day of fun, believe it, will come. The heart lives in the future; The present is sad: Everything is

I remember a wonderful moment: Before me was you, As a fleeting vision, As a genius of pure beauty. In the weariness of sadness is hopeless, In troubles of noisy bustle, A long, gentle voice sounded to

Through wavy fogs The moon wades, On the sad meadows She pours sadly light it. On the way to winter, boring The troika of the greyhound runs, Bells are monotonous Tremblingly thundering. Something is heard

A friend of my harsh days, The dove is decrepit! One in the backwoods of pine forests For a long time, you are waiting for me. You are under the window of your own light You grieve, as if on a watch, And

Spring, spring, time for love, How hard is your appearance for me, What a languid excitement In my soul, in my blood ... How alien to the heart of pleasure ... Everything that rejoices and shines, It leads

A gift is in vain, Life, why are you given to me? Or why the fate of a mystery Are you condemned to be executed? Who is me hostile power Out of insignificance I cried, My soul filled me with passion, Were

Still blowing cold winds And the morning frosts are applied, Just on the thawed patches of spring There were early flowers, As from the wondrous kingdom of wax, From the fragrant cell of honey The first

Frost and sun; a wonderful day! You're asleep, my dear friend - It's time, beauty, wake up: Open close your eyes Towards northern Aurora, Look at the star of the north! Vechor, you remember, the blizzard

In the hills of Georgia lies the night haze; Aragva bears a noise before me. I'm sad and light; my sorrow is light; My sorrow is full of you, By you, by yourself ... My despondency Nothing torments, does