Majstor i Margarita (book recommendation) / The Master and Margarita (preporuka knjige)

February 04, 2016

Today I have a book recommendation for you. The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov is considered by many critics to be one of the best novels of the 20th century. I have recently read this novel and I absolutely loved it. Once I find the time, I might even publish a book review.

Danas imam jednu preporuku za vas, radi se o romanu Majstor i Margarita Mikhaila Bulgakova kojeg brojni kritičari smatraju jednim od najboljih romana dvadesetog stoljeća. Nedavno sam pročitala ovaj roman i jako mi se sviđa. Kada pronađem vremena, možda objavim i svoj ogled ove knjige.

“The most uncomplicated thing of all!’ he replied. ’For someone well acquainted with the fifth dimension, it costs nothing to expand space to the desired proportions. I’ll say more, respected lady - to devil knows what proportions! I, however,’ Koroviev went on chattering, ‘have known people who had no idea, not only of the fifth dimension, but generally of anything at all, and who nevertheless performed absolute wonders in expanding their space. Thus, for instance, one city-dweller, as I’ve been told, having obtained a three-room apartment on Zemlyanoy Val, transformed it instantly, without any fifth dimension or other things that addle the brain, into a four-room apartment by dividing one room in half with a partition.”

Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita

hand painted pants/ ručno oslikane “I believe!’ Margarita whispered solemnly. ‘I believe! Something will happen! It cannot not happen, because for what, indeed, has lifelong torment been sent to me? I admit that I lied and deceived and lived a secret life, hidden from people, but all the same the punishment for it cannot be so cruel…Something is bound to happen, because it cannot be that anything will go on for ever…”

faux fur infinity scarf/ šal od lažnog krzna: gift/ poklon
coat/ kaput: Tally Weijl
pants/ hlače: Uzor (but I painted them myself/ ali sam ih sama oslikala)
bag/torba: no name/ nije markirana
boots/ čizme: dr. martens

“They have read your novel,’ Woland said, ‘and they said only one thing, that, unfortunately, it is not finished. So I wanted to show you your hero. He has been sitting here for about two thousand years, sleeping, but, when the moon is full, he is tormented, as you see, by insomnia. And it torments not only him, but his faithful guardian, the dog.

If it is true that cowardice is the most grave vice, then the dog, at least, is not guilty of it. The only thing that brave creature ever feared was thunderstorms. But what can be done, the one who loves must share the fate of the one who is loved.”

“This was at dusk, in mid-October. And she left. I lay down on the sofa and fell asleep without turning on the light. I was awakened by the feeling that the octopus was there. Groping in the dark, I barely managed to turn on the light. My pocket watch showed two o’clock in the morning. I was falling ill when I went to bed, and I woke up sick. It suddenly seemed to me that the autumn darkness would push through the glass and pour into the room, and I would drown in it as in ink.”

Find out how to paint on clothes here / Saznajte kako slikati na odjeći ovdje

“O thrice-romantic Master, would you not rather take long walks in a blooming cherry tree alley with your friend and listen to Schubert in the evenings? Would you not rather write by candlelight with a quill pen? Like Faust, would you not rather sit over a retort in the hopes of crafting a new homunculus? That is your desination, there. A house awaits you, with an aging servant; the candles are already lit and will soon extinguish as dawn inevitably arrives. Take this path, Master, and farewell! I must go.”

“…But as soon as the dirty snow disappeared from the sidewalks and streets, as soon as the slightly rotten, disquieting spring breeze wafted through the window, Margarita Nikolaevna began to grieve more than in winter. She often wept in secret, a long and bitter weeping. She did not know who it was she loved: a living man or a dead one? And the longer the desperate days went on, the more often, especially at twilight, did the thought come to her that she was bound to a dead man.
She had either to forget him or to die herself. It was impossible to drag on with such a life. Impossible! Forget him, whatever the cost—forget him! But he would not be forgotten, that was the trouble.”

Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita