Learning from the best: Wisely treat life like Mikhail Bulgakov

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Mikhail Bulgakov has seen a lot in his life: the Bolshevik coup, morphine overdose, and the horrors of medical practice in the wilderness.

He wrote his first work as early as 7 years old, but he considered medicine as his main vocation. The reason for this is quite simple: his uncles working as doctors in Moscow and Warsaw, very well earned. Literature remained a passion all his life, although it brought him many problems. By 1930, the Soviet Union stopped publishing Bulgakov’s novels, banned performances, and he received recognition after his death.

“Failure to write for me is tantamount to burying alive,” wrote Bulgakov in a letter to the Soviet authorities, at the same time asking for permission to leave the country (which did not happen). Bulgakov, of course, was much more fortunate than the other opposition writers. Strangely enough, Joseph Stalin, who saved him from repression, comrade, was very fond of staging “Days of the Turbins” (renamed for ideological reasons as “The White Guard”), so he limited himself to a ban on writing.

Whatever it was, life in a revolutionary time, the struggle with ideology (albeit only on paper) and the pragmatic attitude to life, characteristic of all doctors, allowed Bulgakov to wisely relate to life in any situation. If fate presents you with tests – whether it is cold food from the delivery or charges of anti-communist propaganda – we advise you not to dramatize and deal with problems like Bulgakov.

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People are like people. They love money, but it always has been.

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For twenty years, he has been engaged in some business, for example, he reads Roman law, and on the twenty-first, it suddenly turns out that Roman law has nothing to do with it, that he does not even understand him and does not love him, but in fact he is a delicate gardener and burns with love to flowers. This happens, I suppose, from the imperfections of our social system, in which very often they get into their place only towards the end of life.

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Yes, man is mortal, but that would be half the trouble. The bad thing is that he is sometimes suddenly mortal, that's the trick.

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Nothing is worse, comrades, than cowardice and self-doubt.

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I believe that you cannot become an educated person in any educational institution. But in any well-established educational institution, one can become a disciplined person and acquire a skill that will be useful in the future when a person outside the walls of an educational institution begins to educate himself.

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Remember: a person living in Paris should know that the Russian language is only suitable for swearing in unprintable words or, worse, to proclaim any destructive slogans. Neither is accepted in Paris.

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All will pass. Suffering, torment, blood, hunger and pestilence. The sword will disappear, but the stars will remain, when the shadows of our bodies and works will not remain on the ground. There is not a single person who does not know this. So why don't we want to turn our eyes on them?

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There are only two powers in the world: dollars and literature.

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He who loves must share the fate of the one he loves.

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Only through suffering does the truth come … Is that right, be at peace! But they do not pay money for knowledge of the truth, or give a ration. Sad but true.

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Fact is the most stubborn thing in the world.

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Love jumped out in front of us, as the killer in the alley jumped out of the ground and struck us both at once!
So striking lightning, so amazing Finnish knife!

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Something unkind lurks in men who avoid wine, games, society of pretty women, table talk. Such people are either seriously ill, or secretly hate others. True, exceptions are possible. Among those who sat at the banquet table with me, there were sometimes amazing scoundrels!

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The second freshness is what nonsense! Freshness is only one – the first, it is also the last. And if sturgeon second freshness, it means that it is rotten!

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Still, our medicine is a dubious science, I must say.

See also: Learning from the best: Ironize as Yuri Andrukhovich

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                                                            literature,
                                                            Michael Bulgakov

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