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.
IVAN TURGENEVDeath is like a fisherman, who, having caught a fish in his net, leaves it in the water for a time; the fish continues to swim about, but all the while the net is round it, and the fisherman will snatch it out in his own good time.
More Ivan Turgenev Quotes
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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.
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What’s terrible is that there’s nothing terrible, that the very essence of life is petty, uninteresting, and degradingly trite.
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That’s what children are for—that their parents may not be bored.
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Belonging to oneself–the whole essence of life lies in that.
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I do not know what the heart of a bad man is like. But i do know what the heart of a good man is like. And it is terrible.
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All human beings hang by a thread, an abyss may open under their feet at any moment, and yet they have to go and invent all sorts of difficulties for themselves and spoil their lives.
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Illness isn’t the only thing that spoils the appetite.
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Death’s an old joke, but each individual encounters it anew.
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Bazarov drew himself up haughtily. “I don’t adopt any one’s ideas; I have my own.
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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?
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A son is like a lopped off branch. As a falcon he comes when he wills and goes where he lists.
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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?
IVAN TURGENEV -
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.
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The past was a dream wasn’t it? And who ever remembers dreams?
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In my case there was no first love. I began with the second.
IVAN TURGENEV






