“Great God, grant that twice two be not four.”

Whatever man prays for, he prays for a miracle. Every prayer reduces itself.

There are some moments in life, some feelings; one can only point to them and pass by.

So many memories and so little worth remembering, and in front of me – a long, long road without a goal.

I walked in the meadows of green grieving for my life.

Nothing is worse and more hurtful than a happiness that comes too late.

I only know that I feel tired, antiquated; I feel as though I had been living a long, long time.

We’re young, we’re not monsters, no fools: we’ll conquer happiness for ourselves.

Oh, gentle feelings, soft sounds, the goodness and the gradual stilling of a soul that has been moved; the melting happiness of the first tender, touching joys of love- where are you?

Whatever a person may pray for, that person prays for a miracle. Every prayer comes down to this – Almighty God, grant that two times two not equal four.

What’s important is that twice two is four and all the rest’s nonsense.

Every man’s happiness is built on the unhappi-ness of another.

Bazarov drew himself up haughtily. “I don’t adopt any one’s ideas; I have my own.

I’m through with Tolstoy. He has ceased to exist for me…. If I eat a bowl of soup and like it, I know by that fact alone and with absolute certainty that Tolstoy will find it bad, and vice versa.

Everyone needs help from everyone else.

Go forward while you can, but if your strength fails you, sit down near the road and gaze without anger or envy at those who pass by. They don’t have far to go, either.

In my case there was no first love. I began with the second.