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
motivational business inspiration
If we wait for the moment when everything, absolutely everything is ready, we shall never begin.
heart men good-man
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.
encounters individual old-jokes
Death's an old joke, but each individual encounters it anew.
stars mud
We sit in the mud... and reach for the stars.
first-love firsts cases
In my case there was no first love. I began with the second.
running knowing people
The people who bind themselves to systems are those who are unable to encompass the whole truth and try to catch it by the tail; a system is like the tail of truth, but truth is like a lizard; it leaves its tail in your fingers and runs away knowing full well that it will grow a new one in a twinkling.
hands things-in-life whole
Take what you can yourself, and don't let others get you into their hands; to belong to oneself, that is the whole thing in life.
heart thinking want
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...
writing character ideas
I never started from ideas but always from character.
dream moving tired
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.
book fall reflection
He went to bed early, but could not fall asleep. He was haunted by sad and gloomy reflections about the inevitable end- death. These thoughts were familiar to him, many times had he turned them over this way and that, first shuddering at the probability of annihilation, then welcoming it, almost rejoicing in it. Suddenly a peculiarly familiar agitation took possession of him... He mused awhile, sat down at the table, and wrote down the following lines in his sacred copy-book, without a single correction:
fairy-tale feds tales
Even nightingales can’t be fed on fairy tales.
mind impossible
I don't see why it's impossible to express everything that's on one's mind.
fate rights giving
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!