Ivan Turgenev
Ivan Turgenev
Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenevwas a Russian novelist, short story writer, and playwright. His first major publication, a short story collection entitled A Sportsman's Sketches, was a milestone of Russian Realism, and his novel Fathers and Sonsis regarded as one of the major works of 19th-century fiction...
NationalityRussian
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth9 November 1818
CountryRussian Federation
art nonsense romanticism
It's all romanticism, nonsense, rottenness, art.
sea fishing rivers
Death 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.
ideas my-own
Bazarov drew himself up haughtily. "I don't adopt any one's ideas; I have my own.
feelings pity good-feeling
Who among us has the strength to oppose petty egoism, those petty good feelings, pity and remorse?
fire earth may
One may speak about anything on earth with fire, with enthusiasm, with ecstasy, but one only speaks about oneself with avidity.
cake fancy bread
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.
spiritual art creativity
Art, if one employs this term in the broad sense that includes poetry within its realm, is an art of creation laden with ideals, located at the very core of the life of a people, defining the spiritual and moral shape of that life.
inspirational art work
As for work, without it, without painstaking work, any writer or artist definitely remains a dilettante; there's no point in waiting for so-called blissful moments, for inspiration; if it comes, so much the better--but you keep working anyway.
wife harder whole
To tell about a drunken muzhik's beating his wife is incomparably harder than to compose a whole tract about the 'woman question.'
soup facts vices
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.
first-love rising-up phantoms
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?
ignorance fate hands
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.
self beast should
I've become convinced that every person should treat himself strictly and even rudely and distrustfully; it's difficult to tame the beast in oneself.
self live-in-the-moment life-is
Each 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.