He filled a shelf with a small army of books and read and read; but none of it made sense. .. They were all subject to various cramping limitations: those of the past were outdated, and those of the present were obsessed with the past.

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If you but knew the flames that burn in me which I attempt to beat down with my reason.

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I want to understand you, I study your obscure language.

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Play interests me very much," said Hermann: "but I am not in the position to sacrifice the necessary in the hope of winning the superfluous.

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I was not born to amuse the Tsars.

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Dearer to me than a host of base truths is the illusion that exalts.

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A deception that elevates us is dearer than a host of low truths.

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It's a lucky man who leaves early from life's banquet, before he's drained to the dregs his goblet - full of wine; yes, it's a lucky man who has not read life's novel to the end, but has been wise enough to part with it abruptly - like me with my Onegin.

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My dreams, my dreams! What has become of their sweetness? What indeed has become of my youth?

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..depression still kept guard on him, and chased after him like a shadow - or like a faithful wife.

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