sentence
"After slapping Alexei Tolstoi in the face, M. immediately returned to Moscow."
Nadezhda Mandelstam, decribing her husband's smackdown of Tolstoi in her memoir Hope Against Hope. I would point out that this is the opening line - the lady knows how to start a scene. What she fails to explain is that the reason her husband Osip was that mad at Tolstoi was because Tolstoi didn't think it was such a big deal that Borodin had "assaulted" her (whatever that means - the word wasn't expanded on or in a context I could read) and somehow came to the conclusion that it was all her and Osip's fault.
The parallels between Russian poets and high schoolers starts to become clear. I can't make too much fun of Russian poets, though, because they tended to have high ideals, horrible lives, and pretty terrible deaths. Plus, most of them could have probably kicked my ass in a fight - they were scrappy. Still, I hold a grudge for the time a pack of them made me cry. Stupid poets and their stupid sad poetry about their stupid dead friends and their stupid lyrical ability to convey stupid unbearable loneliness. See - they even turn me back into a high schooler. They drag everyone down to their level.
Nadezhda Mandelstam, decribing her husband's smackdown of Tolstoi in her memoir Hope Against Hope. I would point out that this is the opening line - the lady knows how to start a scene. What she fails to explain is that the reason her husband Osip was that mad at Tolstoi was because Tolstoi didn't think it was such a big deal that Borodin had "assaulted" her (whatever that means - the word wasn't expanded on or in a context I could read) and somehow came to the conclusion that it was all her and Osip's fault.
The parallels between Russian poets and high schoolers starts to become clear. I can't make too much fun of Russian poets, though, because they tended to have high ideals, horrible lives, and pretty terrible deaths. Plus, most of them could have probably kicked my ass in a fight - they were scrappy. Still, I hold a grudge for the time a pack of them made me cry. Stupid poets and their stupid sad poetry about their stupid dead friends and their stupid lyrical ability to convey stupid unbearable loneliness. See - they even turn me back into a high schooler. They drag everyone down to their level.