Traces of human life vanish very quickly: Glafira Petrovna's estate had not yet gone wild, but it seemed already to have sunk into that quiet repose which possesses everything on earth wherever there is no restless human infection to affect it.

The earth quietly swam away from under my feet.

Good-bye,' he said with sudden force, and his eyes gleamed with their last light. 'Good-bye.... Listen ... you know I didn't kiss you then.... Breathe on the dying lamp, and let it go out ...

The word tomorrow was invented for indecisive people and for children.

Nowhere does time pass as swiftly as in Russia, though they say that in prison it passes even more quickly.

Oh we have hard times to live through, those of us who are born spectators.

However much you knock at nature's door, she will never answer you in comprehensible words.

It's amazing how man still believes in words. For example, if you call him a fool and don't beat him, he'll be wretched. Call him a genius and don't give him any money - he'll be quite satisfied.

Every man hangs by a thread, any minute the abyss may open under his feet, and yet he must go and invent for himself all kinds of troubles and spoil his life.

It was only the vulgarly mediocre that repelled her.

You may feed the wolf as you will; he has always a hankering for the woods.

Death is something ancient, but it comes fresh to each of us.

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.

Everything on earth -- both the good things and the bad things -- is not given to a man according to his just deserts, but as a result of certain as yet unknown, yet logical, laws which I won't even undertake to suggest to you, although it sometimes seems to me that I feel them as through a glass darkly.

I? Believe me, Zinaida Alexandrovna, that whatever you did, however much you make me suffer, I shall love you and adore you to the end of my days.

Take for yourself what you can, and don't be ruled by others; to belong to oneself - the whole savour of life lies in that.

I don't see why it's impossible to express everything that's on one's mind.

Death is like a fisherman who has caught a fish in his net and leaves it for a time in the water: the fish still swims about, but the net surrounds it, and the fisherman will take it when he wishes.

Arkardy went on,with the air of a man who has got into a bog,feels that he is sinking further and further in every step, and yet hurries onwards in the hope of crossing it as soon as possible.

No words can express what was happening in the pure soul of the girl: it was a secret for her; let it remain a secret for all and everyone. No one can know, no one has seen or will ever see how the seed summoned to life and fruition swells and ripens in the bosom of the earth.

Ah, but in time the heat of noontide passes, and to it there succeed nightfall and dusk, with a return to the quiet fold where for the weary an the heavy-laden there waits sleep, sweet sleep.

First love is like a revolution; the uniformly regular routine of ordered life is broken down and shattered in one instant; youth mounts the barricade, waves high its bright flag, and whatever awaits it in the future - death or a new life - all alike it goes to meet with ecstatic welcome.

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

It seemed to us that all people to a greater or lesser degree belong to one of these two types, that almost every one of us resembles either Don Quixote or Hamlet.

Circumstances define us; they force us onto one road or another, and then they punish us for it.

I was as happy as a fish in water, and I could have stayed in that room for ever, have never left that place.

The fact is that previously they were simply dunces and now they've suddenly become nihilists.

Thank you for the offer, Anna Sergeyevna, and for your flattering opinion of my conversational talents. But I find even now I've spent too long in a world alien to me. Flying fish can stay a while in the air but they soon have to flop down into the water. Let me splash back into my element.

What a magnificent body, how I should like to see it on the dissecting table.

We sit in the mud... and reach for the stars.

But I think that I have already been moving too long in a sphere which is not my own. Flying fishes can hold out for a time in the air, but soon they must splash back into the water; allow me, too, to paddle in my own element.

And yet can it be that I was fit for nothing, that for me there was, as it were, no work on earth to do?

We act by virtue of what we recognize as beneficial. At the present time, negation is the most beneficial of all—and we deny.

On the contrary I am ready to submit, only inequality is hard to bear. To have self-respect and to submit - that I do understand; that's happiness. But a subordinate existence...no, I've had enough of that.

My dear Natalya Petrovna, there's funny and funny.

Poetry is the language of the gods. I love poems myself. But poetry is not only in poems; it is diffused everywhere, it is around us. Look at those trees, that sky on all sides there is the breath of beauty, and of life, and where there is life and beauty, there is poetry also.

Who among us has the strength to oppose petty egoism, those petty good feelings, pity and remorse?

This is the only thing that makes life worth living. If you have succeeded in doing something you wanted to do, something that seemed impossible—well, then, make the most of it, with all your heart, to the very brim.

Death's an old joke, but each individual encounters it a new.

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.

Victims of misfortune are quick to sense another of their kind from a distance, but in old age they rarely become friends, which is in no way surprising: they have nothing to share together - not even hope.

He was the soul of politeness to everyone -- to some with a hint of aversion, to others with a hint of respect.

Sentimental outbreaks are like liquorice; when first you suck it, it's not bad, but afterwards it leaves a very nasty taste in the mouth.

So long as one's just dreaming about what to do, one can soar like an eagle and move mountains, it seems, but as soon as one starts doing it one gets worn out and tired.

To desire and expect nothing for oneself and to have profound sympathy for others is genuine holiness.

I had no first love,' he said at last; 'I began with the second.

Woe to the heart that has not loved in youth!

Those were Anna Sergeyevna's words, and those were Bazarovs; both thought they spoke the truth. Did their words hold the truth, the whole truth? They didn't know it themselves, much less does the author. But their conversation went as if they completely believed one another.

And I used to think, after all, I'll do a whole mass of things, I'll not die, no way! There's a task to be done and I'm a giant! And now the giant's only task is to die decently, although no one cares a damn about that...Still, I won't start wagging my tail.