justice

winter

occupation / innovator as

historian

screenwriter

novelist

nationality

Russian

public figure

playwright

poet

prosaist

opinion journalist

military personnel

teacher

scientific organization

USSR Union of Writers

cause of death

natural causes

Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts

religion

Russian Orthodox Church

American Academy of Arts and Sciences

Russian Academy of Sciences

Bavarian Academy of Fine Arts

Eastern Front of World War II

innovator in the field of

Gulag

is not an expression of the self. It is about the feelings that belong to all living people.

True art is not an expression of the self. Art is about the feelings that belong to all living people. (Aleksander Titovets)

is conscience, not a personal conscience but the conscience of the whole of humanity. Those who clearly recognize the voice of their own conscience usually recognize also the voice of justice.

Justice is conscience, not a personal conscience but the conscience of the whole of humanity. Those who clearly recognize the voice of their own conscience usually recognize also the voice of justice. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

is not the grave of the year, but a pause in the music during which the musicians are privately tuning their strings, to prepare for the coming outburst.

We are accustomed to consider Winter the grave of the year, but it is not so in reality. In the stripped trees, the mute birds, the disconsolate gardens, the frosty ground, there is only an apparent cessation of Nature's activities. Winter is pause in music, but during the pause the musicians are privately tuning their strings, to prepare for the coming outburst. When the curtain falls on one piece at the theatre, the people are busy behind the scenes making arrangements for that which is to follow. Winter is such pause, such fall of the curtain. Underground, beneath snow and frost, next spring and summer are secretly getting ready. The roses which young ladies will gather six months hence for hair or bosom, are already in hand. In Nature there is no such thing as paralysis. Each thing flows into the other, as movement into movement in graceful dances Nature's colours blend in imperceptible gradation all her notes are sequacious.

Aleksandr SolzhenitsynThinkers

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn