Vladimir Mayakovsky quotes

On the pavement of my trampled soul the steps of madmen weave the prints of rude crude words. (Vladimir Mayakovsky)
Love's ship has foundered on the rocks of life. We're quits: stupid to draw up a list of mutual sorrows, hurts and pains.
Vladimir Mayakovsky
I understand the power and the alarm of words – Not those that they applaud from theatre-boxes, but those which make coffins break from bearers and on their four oak legs walk right away.
Vladimir Mayakovsky
Art must not be concentrated in dead shrines called museums. lt must be spread everywhere – on the streets, in the trams, factories, workshops, and in the workers' homes.
Vladimir Mayakovsky
A rhyme's ... a barrel of dynamite. A line is a fuse that's lit. The line smoulders, the rhyme explodes – and by a stanza a city is blown to bits.
Vladimir Mayakovsky
If you wish, I shall grow irreproachably tender: not a man, but a cloud in trousers!
Vladimir Mayakovsky
I want to be understood by my country, but if I fail to be understood – what then?, I shall pass through my native land to one side, like a shower of slanting rain.
Vladimir Mayakovsky
In parade deploying the armies of my pages, I shall inspect the regiments in line. Heavy as lead, my verses at attention stand, ready for death and for immortal fame.
Vladimir Mayakovsky
Hey, you! Heaven! Off with your hat! I am coming! Not a sound. The universe sleeps, its huge paw curled upon a star-infested ear.
Vladimir Mayakovsky
Art is not a mirror to hold up to society, but a hammer with which to shape it.
Vladimir Mayakovsky
No gray hairs streak my soul, no grandfatherly fondness there! I shake the world with the might of my voice, and walk – handsome, twentytwoyearold. (Vladimir Mayakovsky)
Tramp squares with rebellious treading! Up heads! As proud peaks be seen! In the second flood we are spreading Every city on earth will be clean.
Vladimir Mayakovsky
Agitprop sticks in my teeth too, and I'd rather compose romances for you – more profit in it and more charm. But I subdued myself, setting my heel on the throat of my own song.
Vladimir Mayakovsky
Love for us is no paradise of arbors - to us love tells us, humming, that the stalled motor of the heart has started to work again.
Vladimir Mayakovsky