Character: Anna Sergeevna Odintsova

Tell me why, even when we enjoy, for example, music, a good evening, conversation with sympathetic people, why does all this seem more like a hint of some kind of immeasurable happiness that exists somewhere, than real happiness, that is, the kind that we ourselves do we have?

- It's none of my business; it's up to someone else to figure out what my price is. The main thing is to be able to surrender.

- Yes, understand; everyone will have the same spleen.

- Why go? 'said Madame Odintsov, dropping his voice.
He glanced at her.
- Why stay? answered Bazarov.

- Can't I love? - she murmured.
- Not hardly! Only I should not call it misfortune. On the contrary, that is rather unfortunate, with whom this thing happens.
- What happens?
- To love.
- How you know?
- Firsthand.

Bazarov got up and went to the window.
And you would like to know the reason for this restraint, would you like to know what is happening in me?
"Yes," repeated Madame Odintsov, with some, it is still unclear fright.
And you won't be mad?
- No.
- No? - Bazarov stood back to her. - So know that I love you stupidly, madly... Now what you have achieved.

A lot of memories, and remember nothing, and ahead of me - a long, long road, and no purpose... and I don't want to go.

In my opinion, it's all or nothing. A life for a life. Took my, give my, and then without regret and without refund. And it is not necessary.