Character: Pechorin, Grigory

Often on the face of the man who was supposed to die in a few hours, there's some imprint of inevitable fate, so the usual eye is difficult to make a mistake.

I am like a sailor born and raised on the deck of the brig predatory; his soul got used to storms and battles, and washed up on shore, he feels bored and languishing, no matter how Mani of his shady grove, no matter how Saint he peaceful sun; he goes a whole day on the sand, listening to the monotonous murmur of the rolling waves, and gazes into the misty distance will not be shown there on the pale line dividing the blue deep from the gray clouds, a welcome sail, at first like the wing of a sea gull, but little by little separating from the foam boulders and smooth running approaching the deserted Marina...

The expectation of a violent death isn't a real disease?

- Note, my dear doctor, - I said - that without fools the world would be very boring!..

Whether I am a fool or a villain I know not; but it is true that I am also very regrettable, can be more than it is: in my soul corrupted by the light, imagination restless heart insatiable; nothing fits me: a sadness I can just as easily get used as pleasure, and my life becomes emptier day by day...

If you want, I still love her, I am grateful to her for a few fairly sweet moments, I would lay down my life - only I am bored with her...

I hoped that boredom is not living under the Chechen bullets - in vain: after a month I got used to their buzz, and the proximity of death that right, pay more attention to mosquitoes, and I was still boring, because I almost lost hope.

- Wealth is not happiness!..
- After all it is closer to it than poverty: - there is nothing tasteless as to be dovolno his fate in a modest hut, over a Cup of grechnevoy cereal.

With the possibility of losing her forever, Vera became for me more than anything else - dearer than life, honour, happiness!

Surely, I thought, my only purpose on earth is to destroy other people's expectations? Since I live and act, fate somehow always led me to ending foreign dramas, as if without me no one would never die, never get desperate!

Compassion - a feeling which is so easy to submit to all the women let their claws into her inexperienced heart.

He studied all the living strings of the human heart, how to study the veins of a corpse, but never could he take advantage of his knowledge.

Again I was mistaken: the love of a savage is little better than the love of noble ladies; ignorance and protocetidae one as bored as the coquetry of the other.

Sometimes unimportant case has brutal consequences.