Quotes from Mikhail Lermontov

I sing whatever comes into my head. It'll be heard by who it's meant for, and who isn't meant to hear won't understand.

Can it be that my single purpose on this earth is to destroy the hopes of others? Since I have been living and breathing, fate has somehow always led me into the dramatic climaxes of others' lives, as if without me no one would be able to die, or to come to despair! I have been the necessary character of the fifth act; I have played the sorry role of executioner or traitor involuntarily. 

No, I'm not Byron, it's my role To be an undiscovered wonder, Like him, a persecuted wand'rer, But furnished with a Russian soul. I started sooner, sooner ending, My mind will never reach so high; Within my soul, beyond the mending, My shattered aspirations lie: Dark ocean answer me, can any Plumb all your depth with skillful trawl? Who will explain me to the many? I... perhaps God? No one at all?

Do you know, Princess, said I with a shade of annoyance, that one should never spurn a repentant sinner, for out of sheer desperation he may become twice as sinful . . .

I realized that there was no point or sense in chasing after happiness that had perished.

The story of a man's soul, however trivial, can be more interesting and instructive than the story of a whole nation, especially if it is based on the self-analysis of a mature mind and is written with no vain desire to rouse our sympathy and curiosity. The problem with Rousseau's Confessions is that he read them to his friends.

Ever since poets have written and women have read them (for which the poets should be most deeply grateful) women have been called angels so many times that, in very truth, in their simplicity of soul, they have believed the compliment, forgetting that, for money, the same poets have glorified Nero as a demigod . . .

And, maybe, I will die tomorrow! . . . And not one being on this earth will have ever understood me totally. Some thought of me as worse, some as better, than I actually am . . . Some will say "he was a good fellow," others will say I was a swine. Both one and the other would be wrong. Given this, does it seem worth the effort to live? And yet, you live, out of curiosity, always wanting something new . . . Amusing and vexing!

Do what you will, the heart hardens and the soul shrinks in upon itself.

And then we had one of those conversations which make no sense on paper, which you can't repeat and can't even remember. The sounds mean more than the words, like in an Italian opera.

Mon cher je meprise les femmes pur ne pas les aimer, car autrement la vie serait un melodrame trop ridicule.

He turned away and offered his hand in parting. She didn't take it or say anything. But from where I was behind the door I could see her face through the crack. I pitied her to see how deathly pale that sweet little face had gone. Hearing no answer, Pechorin took a few steps towards the door. He was trembling, and I might say I think he was fit to do what he'd threatened as a joke. That's the sort of man he was, there was no knowing him.

I have an innate passion for contradiction—my whole life has been nothing but a series of melancholy and vain contradictions of heart or reason.

Wanita cuma mencintai orang yang tidak mereka kenal

Well? If I must die, I must! The loss to the world will not be great; and I myself am already downright weary of everything. I am like a guest at a ball, who yawns but does not go home to bed, simply because his carriage has not come for him. But now the carriage is here... Good-bye!...

What, without you is life eternal? what are my boundless realms infernal? Just empty words, a loud discord, a vast cathedral - with no lord!

My thoughts have long been stirred and racked by just one name of passing sweetness: my days in paradise have lacked just your perfection for completeness

My soul has been spoiled by the world, my imagination is unquiet, my heart insatiate. To me everything is of little moment. I become as easily accustomed to grief as to joy, and my life grows emptier day by day. One expedient only is left to me—travel.

Mon cher, je haïs les hommes pour ne pas les mépriser car autrement la vie serait une farce trop dégoûtante.

I become as easily accustomed to grief as to joy, and my life grows emptier day by day.

There is no feminine gaze that I would not forget at the sight of mountains covered with curly vegetation, and illumined by the southern sun, at the sight of the blue sky, or at the sound of a torrent that falls from crag to crag.

Saya tadinya bersedia mencintai seluruh dunia, tapi tak seorang pun mengerti saya: jadi saya belajar membenci

De geschiedenis van een mensenziel , zelfs van de allergeringste, is haast belangwekkender en leerrijker dan de geschiedenis van een geheel volk, vooral wanneer zij het resultaat is van een heldere geest, en wanneer zij geschreven is zonder ijdele wens bewondering en sympathie op te wekken.

My heart was tightening painfully, as it had after our first parting. Oh, how I was glad of this feeling! Could it be that youth wishes to return to me with its wholesome storms, or is this only its departing glance, its last gift, as a keepsake . . . ?