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He in his madness prays for storms, and dreams that storms will bring him peace.

Mikhail Lermontov

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Mikhail Lermontov
Age: 27 †
Born: 1814
Born: January 1
Died: 1841
Died: July 27
Artist
Military Officer
Novelist
Painter
Playwright
Poet
Prosaist
Translator
Writer
Moscow
Russian SFSR
Michail Jur'evič Lermontov
Mikhail I︠U︡rʹevich Lermontov
Михаи́л Ю́рьевич Ле́рмонтов
Storm
Madness
Praying
Dreams
Bring
Peace
Dream
Prays
Storms

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You men do not understand the delights of a glance, of a pressure of the hand... but as for me, I swear to you that, when I listen to your voice, I feel such a deep, strange bliss that the most passionate kisses could not take its place.
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And I, as I lived, in an alien landWill die a slave and an orphan.
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I was ready to love the whole world, but no one understood me, and I learned to hate.
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Love, like fire, goes out without fuel.
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If only people thought a little more about it, they would see that life is not worrying about so much.
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Out of life's storm I carried only a few ideas - and not one feeling.
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What is this eternity to me without you? What is the infinity of my domains? Empty ringing words, A spacious temple - without a divinity!
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We almost always forgive those we understand.
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O vanity! you are the lever by means of which Archimedes wished to lift the earth!
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In simple hearts the feeling for the beauty and grandeur of nature is a hundred-fold stronger and more vivid than in us, ecstatic composers of narratives in words and on paper.
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A strange thing, the human heart in general, and woman's heart in particular.
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Passions are merely ideas in their initial stage.
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In people's eyes I readPages of malice and sin.
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I was born, so that the whole world could be a spectatorOf my triumph or my doom.
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Anyone who has chanced like me to roam through desolate mountains and studied at length their fantastic shapes and drunk the invigorating air of their valleys can understand why I wish to describe and depict these magic scenes for others.
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An unusual beginning must have an unusual end.
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My whole life has been merely a succession of miserable and unsuccessful denials of feelings or reason.
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For what did the creator prepare me,Why did he so terribly contradictThe hopes of my youth?
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There are two men in me--one lives in the full sense of the word, the other reasons and passes judgment on the first. The first will perhaps take leave of you and the world forever in an hour now and the second . . . the second?
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