Andrei Platonov Quotes

Without truth I feel ashamed to be alive.

My body gets weak without truth.

I have a trend of my own.

What if we all suddenly get carried away thinking - who will be left to act?

When you've nothing to live for, you get to thinking inside your head.

We hate our squalor.

In place of hope all that remained to him was endurance, and somewhere beyond the long sequence of nights, beyond the orchards that faded, blossomed, and perished once more, beyond all the people he had encountered and who had then passed on into the past, there existed his fated day-when he would have to take to his bed, turn his face to the wall, and pass away without being able to cry

Then she would wander through fields, over simple, poor land, looking carefully and keenly all round her, still getting used to being alive in the world, and feeling glad that everything in it was right for her - for her body, her heart, and her freedom.

I lived and languished.

Everything comes to an end, only objects are left to pine in the dark.

He alone knew the USSR was populated by many total enemies of socialism, egotists and vipers of the future world, and he secretly consoled himself by the thought that one day soon he would exterminate the whole mass of them, leaving alive only proletarian infants and pure orphans.

O masses, o masses! When will you assume the image and likeness of your avant-garde?

Does the world have nothing inside but sorrow?

We can't feel anything - all that's left inside us is dust.

Marxism will be able to do anything. Or why is Lenin lying whole in Moscow? He's waiting for science - he wants to be revived.

He walked around all the useless things in the courtyard and touched them with his hands; for some reason, he wished that these would remember him, and love him. But he didn't believe they would. From childhood memories he knew how strange and sad it is after a long absence to see a familiar place again, for these unmoving objects have no memory and do not recognize the stirrings of a stranger's heart.

Inside every poor creature was a sense of some other happy destiny, a destiny that was necessary and inevitable -why, then, did they find their lives such a burden and why were they always waiting for something?

Everything in the existing world seemed strange to him; it was as if the world had been created for some brief, mocking game. But this game of make-believe had dragged on for a long time,for eternity, and nobody felt like laughing anymore.

From our ugliness will grow the soul of the world.

People themselves would grind one another down and tear one another to pieces, and the best would fall dead in the struggle while the worst would turn into animals.

Busy remaking the world, man forgot to remake himself.

I want my word to be up to the scale of the feat of arms performed by the Russian soldier.