That is what poetry can do. It speaks to us of what does not exist, which is not only better than what exists, but even more like the truth.
IVAN TURGENEVThat is what poetry can do. It speaks to us of what does not exist, which is not only better than what exists, but even more like the truth.
IVAN TURGENEVSignificance is sweet.
IVAN TURGENEVWe sit in the mud and reach for the stars.
IVAN TURGENEVI only know that I feel tired, antiquated; I feel as though I had been living a long, long time.
IVAN TURGENEVLove isn’t actually a feeling at all–it’s an illness, a certain condition of body and soul…. Usually it takes possession of someone without his permission, all of a sudden, against his will–just like cholera or a fever.
IVAN TURGENEVHe was the soul of politeness to everyone — to some with a hint of aversion, to others with a hint of respect.
IVAN TURGENEVBazarov drew himself up haughtily. “I don’t adopt any one’s ideas; I have my own.
IVAN TURGENEVThere are some moments in life, some feelings; one can only point to them and pass by.
IVAN TURGENEVI look up to heaven only when I want to sneeze.
IVAN TURGENEVNo matter how often you knock at nature’s door, she won’t answer in words you can understand–for Nature is dumb. She’ll vibrate and moan like a violin, but you mustn’t expect a song.
IVAN TURGENEVEven nightingales can’t be fed on fairy tales.
IVAN TURGENEVWe Russians have assigned ourselves no other task in life but the cultivation of our own personalities, and when we’re barely past childhood, we set to work to cultivate them, those unfortunate personalities.
IVAN TURGENEVI never started from ideas but always from character.
IVAN TURGENEVGo 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.
IVAN TURGENEVI was as happy as a fish in water, and I could have stayed in that room for ever, have never left that place.
IVAN TURGENEVOh, 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?
IVAN TURGENEV