Russian author (1884-1937)
Her smile was a bite, and I was its target.
YEVGENY ZAMYATIN
We
The art of the word is painting + architecture + music.
YEVGENY ZAMYATIN
The New Russian Prose
The whole world is one immense woman, and we are in her very womb, we are not yet born, we are joyfully ripening.
YEVGENY ZAMYATIN
We
And happiness ... Well, after all, desires torment us, don't they? And, clearly, happiness is when there are no more desires, not one ... What a mistake, what ridiculous prejudice it's been to have marked happiness always with a plus sign. Absolute happiness should, of course, carry a minus sign -- the divine minus.
YEVGENY ZAMYATIN
We
The moon, our own, earthly moon is bitterly lonely, because it is alone in the sky, always alone, and there is no one to turn to, no one to turn to it. All it can do is ache across the weightless airy ice, across thousands of versts, toward those who are equally lonely on earth, and listen to the endless howling of dogs.
YEVGENY ZAMYATIN
"A Story About the Most Important Thing", The Dragon
By complex ways, by looking deep into the dark well of the human soul, full of filth, somewhere at the very bottom of it Chekhov at last found his faith. And this faith turned out to be faith in man, in the power of human progress. And man became his god.
YEVGENY ZAMYATIN
Chekhov
The ancient God created the old man, capable of erring--thus he erred himself.
YEVGENY ZAMYATIN
We
The moon climbed out of the ravine, blue, skinny, as if it had been fed on nothing but skimmed milk. It climbed out, and quickly slithered up and up along the finest thread--away from trouble, and on the very top it huddled, crouching on thin legs.
YEVGENY ZAMYATIN
"The Protectress of Sinners", The Dragon: Fifteen Stories
We appeal, not to those who reject today in the name of a return to yesterday, not to those who are hopelessly deafened by today; we appeal to those who see the distant tomorrow -- and judge today in the name of tomorrow.
YEVGENY ZAMYATIN
Tomorrow
The world is kept alive only by heretics.
YEVGENY ZAMYATIN
"Tomorrow"
The sun's champagne streamed from one body into another. And there was a couple on the green silk of the grass, covered by a raspberry umbrella. Only their feet and a little bit of lace could be seen. In the magnificent universe beneath the raspberry umbrella, with closed eyes, they drank in the sparkling madness ... they were immortal. What did it matter that in another far-away universe people would be killing each other?
YEVGENY ZAMYATIN
Islanders and the Fisher of Men
It is the specialist's task to talk about means, about centimeters. An artist's task is to talk about the goal, about kilometers, thousands of kilometers. The organizing role of art consists of infecting the reader, of arousing him with pathos or irony -- the cathode and anode in literature. But irony that is measured in centimeters is pathetic, and centimeter-sized pathos is ridiculous. No one can be carried away by it. To stir the reader, the artist must speak not of means but of ends, of the great goal toward which mankind is moving.
YEVGENY ZAMYATIN
The Goal