The Ukrain­ian lan­guage is sur­pris­ing­ly melo­di­ous. It’s not for noth­ing that they call her a nightin­gale 🙂 That’s why her words of love sound espe­cial­ly sin­cere and touch­ing. Chan­fash­ion has pre­pared for you a selec­tion of quotes and poems by Ukrain­ian writ­ers about love, which are suit­able both for wed­ding vows and for spe­cial con­fes­sions.

Quotes by Ukrainian writers about love

Such love hap­pens once in a life­time… (Lina Kostenko)

How many years have I loved, and I fall in love with you every day. (Lina Kostenko)

Unso­licit­ed and unex­pect­ed love came — well, how could I not fol­low it? (Vasyl Simo­nenko)

Love is not a short-term explo­sion of mad pas­sion that can momen­tar­i­ly cloud the mind. No, it’s some­thing else. It is the source of winged dreams, deep respect, self­less devo­tion… (Yaroslav Hry­mai­lo)

Love does not depend on our will, it comes with­out our mer­it, it dis­ap­pears with­out our fault. (Ivan Franko)

How many years have I loved, and I fall in love with you every day. (Lina Kostenko)

No one loved like that. Such love only comes after thou­sands of years. (Vladimir Sausyu­ra)

As long as there are lovers in the world, there is noth­ing to be sad about (Oles Hon­char)

Love is not a short-term explo­sion of mad pas­sion that can momen­tar­i­ly cloud the mind. No, it’s some­thing else. It is the source of winged dreams, deep respect, self­less devo­tion… (Yaroslav Hry­mai­lo)

Why is love in the world? And when the heart loves — how not to love?
What is the prof­it from those loves, — I don’t know, but no one will leave their love… Are they worth it? It is bit­ter to love in vain, it is bit­ter to wait in vain, and it is even worse not to love and not to wait. (Marko Vov­chok)

Volodymyr Sosyura, “Mary”

If you could col­lect all the stars from the sky

and all the suns from all the heav­ens in the world, -

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my love will burn brighter

for all the suns, for thou­sands of cen­turies.

If you plucked flow­ers from all the plan­ets,

that the wind blew them under the stars,

my love will grow stronger

all over the flow­ers, through the years eter­nal sum­mer.

Lina Kostenko, “Back me”

my back is back and forth

such love hap­pens once in a life­time

she will rush over a bro­ken life

they will run after her for sure

she will tear our peace to pieces

she burns the words with her lips

my backs are backs and shamans

as long as I can think for the last time

I still can, but I can’t any­more

it was my turn to star

will I freeze my soul near you?

or near you I will burn with flame.

Yuriy Izdryk, “Prayer”

when the world turns its back

and again dis­tance and walls between us

talk to me

talk to me

let even these words not change any­thing

and when the smell of war is already around

and the first bat­tles are already rag­ing

talk to me

talk to me

because you can also love with a word

I only know one thing and learned one thing

and I ask you qui­et­ly, clum­si­ly, timid­ly:

talk to me

talk to me

and let your word become flesh

Yuriy Izdryk, “Other” (fragment)

man can­not do any­thing by him­self

a per­son always needs anoth­er

on whom you can mul­ti­ply your­self

for whom it is worth writ­ing poems

Yuriy Izdryk, “When you reach the edge…”

when you reach the edge and step over the edge and the dark­ness will swal­low you head on

just think of one thing -

for her to say:

“don’t be afraid

I’m with you”

when cor­nered, when you lose your route and give up almost with­out a fight

will save this: “I am with you

I’m here

don’t you be afraid

I’m here

I’m with you”

when despair and doubt fatigue and fear proph­esy para­noia to you

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her mouth is silent:

“every­thing is fine

I’m here

I’m with you”

Volodymyr Sosyura, “I dreamed of you a long time ago”

I dreamed of you a long time ago,

you entered my thoughts.

I love the sea because it

reminds me of your eyes

I opened the win­dow to the sun

and look through the rays of the swarm…

I love the sky because it is

reminds me of your eyes

And joy­ful flow­ers of spring,

when nightin­gales are in the gar­dens,

I love vio­lets — they

they remind me of your eyes.

Serhii Zhadan, “You haven’t shaved in so long” (fragment)

Nobody knows how love works

From what move­ments it is born, from what con­ver­sa­tions,

From which joy is tak­en, from which guilt,

But it works, try to stop it.

Andrii Lyubka, “We breathe the same air” (fragment)

Be with me, give birth to me, scratch my back,

Wait for me in the evening, tell fun­ny sto­ries,

Put your foot on me when you sleep, read my poems first,

Just be hap­py with me.

You and I are incred­i­bly close because

We breathe the same air.

I love you.

Vasyl Simonenko, “Love”

The forests are ring­ing with mute long­ing,

When the trem­bling night embraces them

And hides it from the eyes in jeal­ousy

Charms of their orig­i­nal beau­ty.

Forests swell with liv­ing joy,

As the morn­ing flares up in the sky,

As the sun rais­es the fiery cur­tain

From their orig­i­nal and pure beau­ty.

It seems to me — maybe, I don’t know —

It was and will always be like this:

Love, like the sun, opens the world

The bound­less great­ness of human beau­ty.

And there­fore the world always bless­es

And the ris­ing sun and the lov­ing heart.

Vasyl Stus, “Only you make the white world holy”

Only you make the world white,

only you are filled with tears,

steamed the fields with your spir­it,

only you make the baby hap­py,

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vibur­num singing foams over the water —

only you, only you!

My heart screams only for you.

Only you give me strength

con­tin­ue to walk the weak world,

only by you, only by you

Lina Kostenko, “You told me with your eyes: I love you”

You told me with your eyes: I love you.

The soul passed its dif­fi­cult exam.

Like the qui­et ring­ing of rock crys­tal

the unsaid remained unsaid.

Life went on, that plat­form passed,

Silence rang through the sta­tion horn.

Many words are writ­ten with a pen.

The unsaid remained unsaid.

The nights were dawn­ing, the days were evening.

More than once hit the share with Tere­sa.

The words rose like the sun in me.

The unsaid remained unsaid.

Serhii Zhadan, “Trees”

At night I did not have time to say about it.

Night is hearts with gold­en nerves.

And in the morn­ing you leave your bar­racks -

the sun above and the fog between the trees.

Chil­dren enlight­en him with their souls,

its bases are wet, the last.

If you don’t want to think about me -

think of those trees in the fog.

Think about them when you are hap­py

think when you want to cry.

Trees in the fog are like a radio —

share trou­bles, share plans.

If you don’t want to remem­ber me

if you don’t have strength and peace,

think of the for­est that stands in the for­est -

strong, reli­able and high.

Think of steel roots

think about the inci­sions and the crown.

Let this earth, tar and autumn,

fill your black night with warmth.

Think of the wet grass between the dunes,

think to your­self as if it should be so.

I know what you’re real­ly think­ing

when you think of trees

I know, I keep it all to myself

in the midst of the fog and the vast­ness of the night.

There is noth­ing acci­den­tal.

There is noth­ing. Noth­ing at all.