It was only the vulgarly mediocre that repelled her.
IVAN TURGENEVEach individual is more or less dimly aware of his significance, is aware that he’s something innately superior, something eternal–and lives, is obligated to live, in the moment and for the moment.
More Ivan Turgenev Quotes
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I don’t see why it’s impossible to express everything that’s on one’s mind.
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A poet must be a psychologist, but a secret one: he should know and feel the roots of phenomena but present only the phenomena themselves in full bloom or as they fade away.
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He was the soul of politeness to everyone — to some with a hint of aversion, to others with a hint of respect.
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You may live a long while with some people and be on friendly terms with them and never speak openly with them from your soul.
IVAN TURGENEV -
I share no man’s opinions; I have my own.
IVAN TURGENEV -
I believe love produces a certain flowering of the whole personality which nothing else can achieve.
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What did I hope for, what did I expect, what rich future did I foresee, when the phantom of my first love, rising up for an instant, barely called forth one sigh, one mournful sentiment?
IVAN TURGENEV -
Bazarov drew himself up haughtily. “I don’t adopt any one’s ideas; I have my own.
IVAN TURGENEV -
Belonging to oneself–the whole essence of life lies in that.
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I’m incapable of describing the feeling with which I left. I wouldn’t want it ever to be repeated, but I would have considered myself unfortunate if I’d never experienced it.
IVAN TURGENEV -
To desire and expect nothing for oneself and to have profound sympathy for others is genuine holiness.
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A person who gets angry at his own illness is sure to overcome it.
IVAN TURGENEV -
Circumstances define us; they force us onto one road or another, and then they punish us for it.
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We 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 TURGENEV -
Sternly, remorselessly, fate guides each of us; only at the beginning, when we’re absorbed in details, in all sorts of nonsense, in ourselves, are we unaware of its harsh hand.
IVAN TURGENEV