So many memories and so little worth remembering, and in front of me – a long, long road without a goal.
IVAN TURGENEVThere is a sweetness in being the sole source, the autocratic and irresponsible cause of the greatest joy and profoundest pain to another.
More Ivan Turgenev Quotes
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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.
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Everyone needs help from everyone else.
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To desire and expect nothing for oneself and to have profound sympathy for others is genuine holiness.
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Nothing is worse and more hurtful than a happiness that comes too late. It can give no pleasure, yet it deprives you of that most precious of rights – the right to swear and curse at your fate!
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Don’t force me into saying what I don’t want to say, and what I won’t say.
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I walked in the meadows of green grieving for my life.
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There is a sweetness in being the sole source, the autocratic and irresponsible cause of the greatest joy and profoundest pain to another.
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I was afraid of looking into my heart…afraid of thinking seriously about anything…I did not want to know whether I was loved, and I did not want to admit to myself that I was not loved.
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People without firmness of character love to make up a fate for themselves; that relieves them of the necessity of having their own will and of taking responsibility for themselves.
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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.
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Youth eats all the sugared fancy cakes and regards them as its daily bread. But there’ll come a time when you’ll start asking just for a crust.
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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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No 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.
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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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The past was a dream wasn’t it? And who ever remembers dreams?
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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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We’re young, we’re not monsters, no fools: we’ll conquer happiness for ourselves.
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Significance is sweet.
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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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Circumstances define us; they force us onto one road or another, and then they punish us for it.
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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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Nature cares nothing for logic, our human logic: she has her own, which we do not recognize and do not acknowledge until we are crushed under its wheel.
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Nature creates while destroying, and doesn’t care whether it creates or destroys as long as life isn’t extinguished, as long as death doesn’t lose its rights.
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I only know that I feel tired, antiquated; I feel as though I had been living a long, long time.
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Death’s an old joke, but each individual encounters it anew.
IVAN TURGENEV