Bir başkasının en büyük sevinçlerinin ve en derin acılarının yegane kaynağı,keyfi ve sorumsuz sebebi olmak çok tatlıydı.
Ivan TurgenevThere is a sweetness in being the sole source, the autocratic and irresponsible cause of the greatest joy and profoundest pain to another, and I was like wax in Zinaïda's hands; though, indeed, I was not the only one in love with her. All the men who visited the house were crazy over her, and she kept them all in leading-strings at her feet. It amused her to arouse their hopes and then their fears, to turn them round her finger (she used to call it knocking their heads together), while they never dreamed of offering resistance and eagerly submitted to her. About her whole being, so full of life and beauty, there was a peculiarly bewitching mixture of slyness and carelessness, of artificiality and simplicity, of composure and frolicsomeness; about everything she did or said, about every action of hers, there clung a delicate, fine charm, in which an individual power was manifest at work. And her face was ever changing, working too; it expressed, almost at the same time, irony, dreaminess, and passion. Various emotions, delicate and quick-changing as the shadows of clouds on a sunny day of wind, chased one another continually over her lips and eyes.
Ivan TurgenevIf we wait for the moment when everything, absolutely everything is ready, we shall never begin." - Ivan Turgenev
Ivan TurgenevOh, gentle feelings, soft sounds, the goodness and the gradual stilling of a soul that has been moved; the melting happiness of the first tender, touching joys of love- where are you?
Ivan TurgenevThe queen gazes into the garden. There, near the trees, is a fountain; it is white in the darkness and tall, tall as a ghost. The queen hears, through the talk and the music, the soft splashing of its waters. She looks and thinks. You, Sirs, you are all noble, clever, rich, you throng round me, every one of my words is precious to you, you are all ready to die at my feet, you are my slaves.. But there, by the fountain, by the plashing water, he whose slave I am awaits me. He wears neither gorgeous raiment nor precious stones, no one knows him, but he await me, sure that I come – and I shall come –and there is no power in the world that can stop me when I want to go to him, to be with him, to lose myself with him there in the darkness of the garden, with the rustling of the trees and the murmur of the fountain …' Zinaida was silent.
Ivan TurgenevMots clés love
O youth! youth! you go your way heedless, uncaring – as if you owned all the treasures of the world; even grief elates you, even sorrow sits well upon your brow. You are self-confident and insolent and you say, 'I alone am alive – behold!' even while your own days fly past and vanish without trace and without number, and everything within you melts away like wax in the sun .. like snow .. and perhaps the whole secret of your enchantment lies not, indeed, in your power to do whatever you may will, but in your power to think that there is nothing you will not do: it is this that you scatter to the winds – gifts which you could never have used to any other purpose. Each of us feels most deeply convinced that he has been too prodigal of his gifts – that he has a right to cry, 'Oh, what could I not have done, if only I had not wasted my time.
Ivan TurgenevMots clés youth
It's all romanticism, nonsense, rottenness, art.
Ivan TurgenevThat's what children are for—that their parents may not be bored.
Ivan Turgenevtôi vẫn ngồi, vẫn nhìn, vẫn nghe - và lòng tràn ngập một cảm xúc không biết nên gọi là gì, nhưng trong đó có tất cả: niềm vui, nỗi buồn, linh cảm về tương lai, những khát vọng và sự lo âu về cuộc đời. Nhưng lúc ấy tôi còn chưa hiểu gì và tôi cũng không biết gọi tên tất cả những cảm xúc bề bộn trong lòng tôi là gì, hay cũng chỉ biết gọi tất cả những cái đó bằng một cái tên - Zinaitđa
Ivan TurgenevNemáme čo vyčkávať.
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