I've come to realize that however blue my circumstances, if after finishing a chapter of a Dickens novel I feel a miss-my-stop-on-the-train sort of compulsion to read on, then everything is probably going to be just fine.
Uncompromising purpose and the search for eternal truth have an unquestionable sex appeal for the young and high-minded; but when a person loses the ability to take pleasure in the mundane--in the cigarette on the stoop or the gingersnap in the bath--she had probably put herself in unnecessary danger.
Anyone who has ridden the subway twice a day to earn their bread knows how it goes: When you board, you exhibit the same persona you use with your colleagues and acquaintances. You've carried it through the turnstile and past the sliding doors, so that your fellow passengers can tell who you are - cocky or cautious, amorous or indifferent, loaded or on the dole. But you find yourself a seat and the train gets under way; it comes to one station and then another; people get off and others get on. And under the influence of the cradlelike rocking of the train, your carefully crafted persona begins to slip away. The super-ego dissolves as your mind begins to wander aimlessly over your cares and your dreams; or better yet, it drifts into ambient hypnosis, where even cares and dreams recede and the peaceful silence of the cosmos pervades.
Old times, as my father used to say: If you're not careful, they'll gut you like a fish.
It is a lovely oddity of human nature that a person is more inclined to interrupt two people in conversation than one person alone with a book.
If we only fell in love with people who were perfect for us...then there wouldn't be so much fuss about love in the first place.
For better or worse, there are few things so disarming as one who laughs well at her own expense.
...be careful when choosing what you're proud of--because the world has every intention of using it against you.
That's the problem with living in New York. You've got no New York to run away to.
- If you could relive one year in your life, which one would it be? - The upcoming one.
Идти вдоль Невского-это все равно, что идти вдоль всей русской литературы.
Потом он понял, что чувства – это всего лишь чувства и надо что-то делать.
Представлять себе, что ты находишься не в тех обстоятельствах, в которых находишься, является путем, гарантированно ведущим к помутнению рассудка и сумасшествию.
Граф думал о том, насколько благородным может показаться практически любое действие или намерение человека, если его описать на хорошем французском.
Императора могут стащить за волосы с трона и выбросить на улицу. Но потом, постепенно, новый владыка захочет, чтобы ему помогли надеть пиджак, а затем подумает о том, что этот пиджак было бы неплохо украсить парой медалей. А уж после демократический правитель захочет, чтобы ему поставили кресло с высокой спинкой, которое лучше соответствует его высокому положению.
... Официанты знали своё дело до последней крошки, ложки и копейки.
Судя по всему, книга была написана для такого времени года, когда птицы уже улетели на юг, сухие поленья стоят наготове у камина, поля занесены снегом, а у читателя нет желаниявыходить на улицу... .
“While there are certainly some irksome aspects to school,” he conceded after a moment, “I think you will find to your eventual delight that the experience has broadened your horizons.”Nina looked up.“What do you mean by that?”“What do I mean by what?”“By broadened your horizons.”“By broadening your horizons,” he ventured, “what I meant is that education will give you a sense of the world’s scope, of its wonders, of its many and varied ways of life.”“Wouldn’t travel achieve that more effectively?”“Travel?”“We are talking about horizons, aren’t we? That horizontal line at the limit of sight? Rather than sitting in orderly rows in a schoolhouse, wouldn’t one be better served by working her way toward an actual horizon, so that she could see what lay beyond it? That’s what Marco Polo did when he traveled to China. And what Columbus did when he traveled to America. And what Peter the Great did when he traveled through Europe incognito!”
Perhaps he imagined that the perfect dish would leap off the page and identify itself by name. But for a hopeful young man trying to impress a serious young woman, the menu of the Piazza was as perilous as the Straits of Messina. On the left was a Scylla of lower-priced dishes that could suggest a penny-pinching lack of flair; and on the right was a Charybdis of delicacies that could empty one’s pockets while painting one pretentious. The young man’s gaze drifted back and forth between these opposing hazards.
To be a step ahead in matters of romance requires constant vigilance. If one hopes to make a successful advance, one must be mindful of every utterance, attend to every gesture, and take note of every look. In other words, to be a step ahead in romance is exhausting. But to be a step behind? To be seduced? Why, that was a matter of leaning back in one’s chair, sipping one’s wine, and responding to a query with the very first thought that has popped into one’s head.
“One must make ends meet,” confirmed Audrius matter-of-factly, “or meet one’s end.”
Yes, exile was as old as mankind. But the Russians were the first people to master the notion of sending a man into exile at home.As early as the eighteenth century, the Tsars stopped kicking their enemies out of the country, opting instead to send them to Siberia. Why? Because they had determined that to exile a man from Russia as God had exiled Adam from Eden was insufficient as a punishment; for in another country, a man might immerse himself in his labors, build a house, raise a family. That is, he might begin his life anew.But when you exile a man into his own country, there is no beginning anew. For the exile at home—whether he be sent to Siberia or subject to the Minus Six—the love for his country will not become vague or shrouded by the mists of time. In fact, because we have evolved as a species to pay the utmost attention to that which is just beyond our reach, these men are likely to dwell on the splendors of Moscow more than any Muscovite who is at liberty to enjoy them.
For as a people, we Russians have proven unusually adept at destroying that which we have created.
Every country has its grand canvas, Sasha—the so-called masterpiece that hangs in a hallowed hall and sums up the national identity for generations to come. For the French it is Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People; for the Dutch, Rembrandt’s Night Watch; for the Americans, Washington Crossing the Delaware; and for we Russians? It is a pair of twins: Nikolai Ge’s Peter the Great Interrogating Alexei and Ilya Repin’s Ivan the Terrible and His Son. For decades, these two paintings have been revered by our public, praised by our critics, and sketched by our diligent students of the arts. And yet, what do they depict? In one, our most enlightened Tsar studies his oldest son with suspicion, on the verge of condemning him to death; while in the other, unflinching Ivan cradles the body of his eldest, having already exacted the supreme measure with a swing of the scepter to the head.
С.127: "...настоящий мудрец празднует все то, что можно праздновать".
С. 163: "..."терпение не называли бы добродетелью, если бы его не было так легко потерять"