Lucky’s Reviews > A Hero of Our Time > Status Update

And to think that I still look like a boy; though my face is pale, it is still fresh, my limbs are supple and graceful, my locks thick and curly, eyes flashing, and my blood courses swiftly through the veins. . .

Yes, I have already passed that period of
spiritual life when people seek happiness alone and when the heart must needs love someone passionately; now I only want to be loved, and then only by very few. As a matter of fact, I believe one constant attachment would suffice for me—a wretched sentimental habit!

I do not want to extract any confessions from him; I want him to make me his confidant by his own choice—and that's when I am going to enjoy myself. . .

If you do not gain the ascendancy over her, even
her first kiss will not give you the right to a second. She will flirt with you to her heart's content and a year or two later marry an ugly beast in obedience to her mother's will; then she will begin to assure you that she is unhappy, that she had loved only one man—that is, you.

"Women love only the men they don't know."

Every remembrance of a past sorrow or joy sends a pang through my heart and invariably strikes the very same chords. I am stupidly constituted, for I forget nothing—nothing!

"As for me, I am convinced of only one thing . . ." said the doctor. "And what is that?" I asked, wishing to hear the opinion of a man who had been silent till then.

"That some fine morning sooner or later I shall die," he replied. "I am better off than you," said I. "I have another conviction besides, which is that one exceedingly foul night I had the misfortune to be born."

We soon understood each other and became
companions—for I am incapable of friendship. Between two friends one is always the slave of the other, though frequently neither will admit it; the slave I cannot be, and to dominate is an arduous task since one must employ deception as well;
besides, I have the servants and the money!

I have an inborn urge to contradict; my whole life has been a mere chain of sad and futile opposition to the dictates of either heart or reason.

The presence of an enthusiast makes me as cold as a midwinter's day, and I believe frequent association with a listless phlegmatic would make me an impassioned dreamer.

Grushnitsky has a reputation for superb
courage; I have seen him in action: he brandishes his sabre, and dashes forward shouting with his eyes shut. There is something very un-Russian in that brand of gallantry!