Frases de Mijaíl Shólojov

Mijaíl Aleksándrovich Shólojov fue un novelista soviético nacido el 24 de mayo de 1905 en el jútor de Kruzhílino y fallecido el 21 de febrero de 1984.

Además fue un político y miembro importante del Partido Comunista. Principal exponente de la cultura soviética, sus obras han sido traducidas a más de 30 idiomas. En el año 1965 ganó el Premio Nobel de Literatura. Wikipedia

✵ 11. mayo 1905 – 21. febrero 1984  •  Otros nombres Michail Alexandrowitsch Scholochow

Mijaíl Shólojov Foto

Mijaíl Shólojov: 6 citas0 Me gusta

Mijaíl Shólojov: Frases en inglés

“‘ The Don! The Don! The gentle Don! Our father; giver of our food! Hurrah!’”

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Mikhail Sholokhov libro And Quiet Flows the Don

And Quiet Flows the Don (1934)

“Sometimes life played with him, sometimes it hung on him like a stone round the neck of a drowned man.”

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Mikhail Sholokhov libro And Quiet Flows the Don

And Quiet Flows the Don (1934)

“When swept out of its normal channel, life scatters into innumerable streams. It is difficult to foresee which it will take in its treacherous and winding course. Where to-day it flows in shallows, like a rivulet over sandbanks, so shallow that the shoals are visible, to-morrow it will flow richly and fully.”

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Mikhail Sholokhov libro And Quiet Flows the Don

And Quiet Flows the Don (1934)

“The grass grows over the graves, time overgrows the pain. The wind blew away the traces of those who had departed; time blows away the bloody pain and the memory of those who did not live to see their dear ones again—and will not live, for brief is human life, and not for long is any of us granted to tread the grass.”

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Mikhail Sholokhov libro And Quiet Flows the Don

And Quiet Flows the Don (1934)

“And over the village slipped the days, passing into the nights; the weeks flowed by, the months crept on, the wind howled, and, glassified with an autumnal, translucent, greenish-azure, the Don flowed tranquilly down to the sea.”

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Mikhail Sholokhov libro And Quiet Flows the Don

And Quiet Flows the Don (1934)

“In this winter night, long and ample for bitter memories, many a widow who lost her husband in the war and is now left alone will press her palms to her ageing face; and in the nocturnal darkness the burning tears, as bitter as wormwood, will scorch her fingers.”

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Mikhail Sholokhov

From A Word on Our Country.
One Man's Destiny (1967)