If people are rude in Moscow, at least it's in Russian.
I absolutely fell in love with Moscow. It's one of those places where you can't help but trip over history at every turn. It's a city of enormous contradictions. Within a few yards of Lenin's Tomb is some of the most expensive shopping in the world.
One does not go to Moscow to get fat.
The most terrible of all my battles was the one before Moscow. The French showed themselves to be worthy of victory, but the Russians showed themselves worthy of being invincible.
Our first stop was red square, the heart of Moscow - if Moscow has one.
I do not like Moscow life. You live here not as you want to live, but as old women want you to.
Rule 1, on page 1 of the book of war, is: 'Do not march on Moscow'... Rule 2 is: Do not go fighting with your land armies in China.
Moscow is the city where if Marilyn Monroe should walk down the street with nothing on but shoes, people would stare at her feet first.
Moscow has an energy. Which is important. The city and the people all have an energy. It's quite different from what everybody knows in Los Angeles, but it has an energy. People have an energy.
My favourite city is Moscow, because of its history, which I find fascinating. As I learned to speak Russian, it made it even more interesting.
Moscow was, as some said, the most beautiful mistress a man could ever want, but never cross her: like any good woman, she might just cut off your balls for the hell of it.
Rule 1, on page I of the book of war, is: "Do not march on Moscow". Various people have tried it, Napoleon and Hitler, and it is no good. That is the first rule. I do not know whether your Lordships will know Rule 2 of war. It is: "Do not go fighting with your land armies in China". It is a vast country, with no clearly defined objectives...
Moscow is simply unwilling to recognize the right of self-determination of nations.
I like the idea of getting to dress up, like to do a Barry Lyndon or something about the Napoleonic period, the grand army retreating from Moscow. I understand that there's a craft to acting and a lot of people work hard at it. I just know that music is my first love. I love music, I love film, and I love clothes.
The technologies which have had the most profound effects on human life are usually simple. A good example of a simple technology with profound historical consequences is hay. ... It was hay that allowed populations to grow and civilizations to flourish among the forests of Northern Europe. Hay moved the greatness of Rome to Paris and London, and later to Berlin and Moscow and New York.
Our trip to Moscow opens new prospects for peace in the Middle East. Our people want simple things: to be free and to have sovereignty. All this is impossible without an end to the occupation.
On, those ever-changing moods of Moscow! How swiftly they go from black to white, from one extreme to another, from friendship to accusations, from adoration to hatred, from the permissive 'da' to that annihilating 'nyet.' Those eternal swings from a thaw to a freeze, whims that disregard their own rules, norms, and regulations!
The most beautiful thing in Tokyo is McDonald's. The most beautiful thing in Stockholm is McDonald's. The most beautiful thing in Florence is McDonald's. Peking and Moscow don't have anything beautiful yet.
I don't like Moscow. It's not my city.
White as a winding sheet, Masks blowing down the street: Moscow, Paris London, Vienna - all are undone. The drums of death are mumbling, rumbling, and tumbling, Mumbling, rumbling, and tumbling, The world's floors are quaking, crumbling and breaking.
Once in a Moscow chess club I saw how two first-category players knocked pieces off the board as they were exchanged, so that the pieces fell onto the floor. It was as if they were playing skittles and not chess!
I am not a follower of Moscow, but its victim.
If you've been to Moscow, it's a really exciting and great city, but it still feels like you should be a little careful about which way you're going to step.
In Moscow they do not pay much attention to the living but keep their cemeteries in a splendid state.
Life is like invading Russia. A blitz start, massed shakos, plumes dancing like a flustered henhouse; a period of svelte progress recorded in ebullient despatches as the enemy falls back; then the beginning of a long, morale-sapping trudge with rations getting shorter and the first snowflakes upon your face. The enemy burns Moscow and you yield to General January, whose fingernails are very icicles. Bitter retreat. Harrying Cossacks. Eventually you fall beneath a boy-gunner's grapeshot while crossing some Polish river not even marked on your general's map.
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