Author of quotes: Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov. Page 35

Strange thing the human heart in General, and women in particular!

The Princess seems to be one of those women who want to be amused; if two minutes in a row it will be next to you bored, you've lost irretrievably: your silence ought to excite her curiosity, your conversation is never to satisfy it completely; you should alarm her every minute; ten times publicly for you to disregard the opinion and call it a sacrifice, and so reward yourself for it, will be to torture you - and then just say she doesn't like you. If you're over her will not get power, even her first kiss will not give you the right to second; she with thee will Nakonechnaya plenty, and two years later would marry a freak of obedience to the mother, and will assure herself that she was unhappy that she was only human and loved, that is you, but the sky didn't want to connect it with him because he was wearing a soldier's cloak, although beneath that thick, grey cloak beat a heart, passionate and noble...

Russian ladies, for the most part, cherish only Platonic love, not adding to her thoughts of marriage; and Platonic love is restless.

Women love only those whom they do not know.

About ego! you are the lever with which Archimedes wanted to lift the earthly sphere!..

Two friends one is always the servant of the other, although often neither of them it's not recognized.

Ought to give justice to women: they have the instinct of beauty of the soul.

Rock in women, as in horses, is a great thing: a discovery, which belongs to Young France. She, that is, breeding, not Young France, for the most part denounced in the gait, in the hands and feet; the nose means a lot. The right's nose in Russia are rarer than a small foot.

I admit, I have a violent prejudice against all blind, crooked, deaf, dumb, legless, armless, humpback and so on. I've noticed that there's always some strange relationship between the appearance of man and his soul, as if with the loss of a limb, the soul loses some power of feeling.

The story of the human soul, at least the smallest of the soul, almost curious and not useful history of an entire people, especially when it is a consequence of the observations of a Mature mind on himself and when it was written without the vain desire to initiate participation, or surprise.

Glory - good luck, and to achieve it, you just have to be nimble.

I Asia! that people that the river is completely unreliable!

In the hearts of simple sense the beauty and grandeur of nature are stronger, move a hundred times than us, enthusiastic tellers in words and on paper.

Away from society and closer to nature, we involuntarily become children; all acquired falls away from the soul, and she is again like what they once were, and, right, will there ever be again.