Character: Pechorin, Grigory. Page 1

I stopped myself <...>, with the rule: do not reject anything decisively and not to yield blindly.

In early youth I was a dreamer; I loved to caress alternately grim and joyful images that drew me to my restless and eager imagination. But what I got? <...> I came into this life, having gone through it already, mentally, I felt disgusting, like someone reading a bad imitation of the long known the book.

This new suffering, speaking to a military syllable, made in me happy diversion.

I, however, am pleased that I can cry!
However, it may be the cause of jangled nerves, a night spent without sleep, two minutes against the muzzle of the gun and an empty stomach.

To chase the lost happiness is futile and reckless.

I sometimes despise myself... is it because I despise the other?

- All... tell me the truth. <...> You know, I can sacrifice everything for the person you love... but be quick, for pity's sake... do You despise me?
<...>
- I will tell you the whole truth, I answered the Princess, - I will not make excuses or explain his actions; I don't love you.
Her lips look a little pale...
- Leave me, ' she said barely audibly.
I shrugged, turned and left.

All the way home she talked and laughed constantly. In her movements there was something feverish; not even look at me once. Everyone noticed this extraordinary gaiety. And the Princess inwardly rejoiced, looking at my daughter, and my daughter just nervous fit she'll stay up all night without sleep and will cry.

I'm really in love? I'm so stupid that I expect.

I feel this voracious greed, consuming everything that crosses your path; I look at the sufferings and joys of others only in relation to itself, as in food that support my mental strength.

I laugh at everything, especially the feelings.

I began to read, to learn the science tired; I saw that neither fame nor happiness from them do not depend at all, because the happiest people are ignorant.

... no book can learn to be happy.

Private fame really is a sharp knife to society, you made about yourself to speak for two days. - Suffer well twenty years for it.