Character: Ilya Ilyich Oblomov

- I'm tired, tired, tired!
- What, Ilya?
- From everything! From dances, meetings, tea parties, conversations! From this continuous running race. From gossip, from gossip. I don't like your Petersburg life! <...> no one has a clear, deceased. One tormented, condemned every day to go to work, and the other heavy sighs that he has no sort of grace.

- You said that the other is not worse than the us - moving. Other - no worse that what is already done! Now I know that I'm still way! You thought you poison people that is "different"? I tell you what it is? Do you know what - "the other", huh? Other, so really, take, and move to a new apartment. Vaughn, Nagaev, take the line under the mouse, two shirts in a handkerchief and went... "Where, you say?" - "Move!". Here it is - "another"! And do you think I am, "other", huh?
- Come, sir, to torment me pathetic words!
- Well, I - "the other"? Am I rushing to work? Eat little, or what? Thin or miserable in appearance? Well, perhaps I have something missing? Yes I have in my entire life never myself stocking on the leg strap. Long live, thank God! To whom I say this? Well aren't you the one childhood went for me? You know, I saw that I was brought up tenderly, nor cold, nor hunger never suffered, need not know the bread he earned, generally the black matter is not engaged. Well, how is it you have after all got the nerve to equate me with others?

Well, let these "some" and moving on. And I can't stand any change!

In the bitter moments... he gets out of bed to my knees and begin to pray hot, hard, begging heaven to avert somehow threatening storm. Then, surrendering the care of their fate heaven is serene, and indifferent to all things, and storm out there like myself wants.

He never surrendered captive beauties, was never a slave to them. Oblomov was limited to worship from afar, at a respectful distance.

He needed was sitting in class just listened to what was said the master, because nothing else to do was impossible, and with effort, with sweat, with a sigh he asked, learned the lessons. All this considered it punishment sent by heaven for our sins.

"In ten places in one day - miserable! thought Oblomov. And that's the life! - He shrugged his shoulders. - Where is the man? What it is fragmented and scattered? Of course, a good thing to look in the theater and fall in love with some Lydia... she's cute! In the village with her flowers to tear, to ride, well and good; but ten places in one day - miserable!" he concluded, turning back and rejoicing that he has no such empty desires and thoughts that he never knocks, she's here, while maintaining their human dignity and peace.

Yes, debt is a demon, the devil, from which they were expelled, in addition to money!

"It's not one love, because all life is... - suddenly came into his mind, and if we alienate any case, as a bug when the same is not error? What am I? As if blind..."

I poisoned and poisoned you, instead of just be right and happy...

What is the truth and how it is easy!

- To do! Be engaged when there is a goal. What is my goal? There is none.
The goal is to live.

Flat dry, warm; the house still: robbed only once!

- ... Just living portraits. Like anyone would take the merchant whether official, officer, vodochnika, just alive prints.
- What they are fighting: of fun, or something, that's who de not take it in and out? But life-and there is not what we don't understand it, and sympathy is not what you have there is called humanitatem. One pride only. Portray-they are thieves, fallen women, just catch them on the street but taken to jail. In their story heard not "invisible tears", and the only one visible, coarse laughter, anger...
- What else would you need? And well, you yourself said: this is intense anger - gall persecution of Vice, a laugh of contempt over a fallen man... everything!
- No, not all! suddenly vosplamenenie, said Oblomov. Role - play a thief, a fallen woman, an inflated fool, and the man on the spot don't forget. Where is humanity then? You want one head to write! - almost hissed Oblomov. - Do you think that thoughts do not need hearts? No, it is fertilized with love. Reach out to fallen man, to pick it up, or weep over him, if he dies, not mock. Love him, remember myself in him and treat him like a, then I will read you and bow before you head...