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However much you knock at nature's door, she will never answer you in comprehensible words. - [Nature] To mortify and even to injure an opponent, reproach him with the very defect or vice you feel in yourself. - [Scorn] A bright spring day was fading into evening. High overhead in the clear heavens small rosy clouds seemed hardly to move across the sky but to be sinking into its depths of blue. - A House of Gentlefolk (ch. 1), (Constance Garrett translation) [Books (First Lines)] Anyone who has crossed from the district of Bolkhov into that of Zhizdra will probably have been struck by the sharp difference between the natives of the provinces of Orel and Kaluga. - A Sportsman's Notebook, (Charles and Natasha Hepburn 1950 translation), also titled Russian Life in the Interior and Annals of a Sportsman [Books (First Lines)] "Well, Piotr, not in sight yet?" was the question asked on May the 20th, 1859, by a gentleman of a little over forty, in a dusty coat and checked trousers, who came out without his hat on to the low steps of the posting station at S-----. He was addressing his servant, a chubby young fellow, with whitish down on his chin, and little, lack-lustre eyes. - Fathers and Sons (ch. 1), (Constance Garrett translation), (also titled Fathers and Children) [Books (First Lines)] I share no one's ideas. I have my own. - Fathers and Sons (ch. 13) [Uniformity] No matter how often you knock at nature's door, she won't answer in words you can understand--for Nature is dumb. She'll vibrate and moan like a violin, but you mustn't expect a song. - On the Eve (ch. 1) [Nature] Death is like a fisherman, who, having caught a fish in his net, leaves it in the water for a time; the fish continues to swim about, but all the while the net is round it, and the fishermen will snatch it out in his own good time. - On the Eve (ch. 35), (Gilbert Gardiner translation) [Death : Fishermen] On 10th August 1862, at four o'clock in the afternoon a number of people were crowding in front of the famous Conversation at Baden-Baden. - Smoke (ch. 1) [Books (First Lines)] At one o'clock on a spring day of 1868, in Petersburg, a man of twenty-seven, carelessly and shabbily dressed, was mounting the back stairs of a five-storied house in Officers' Street. Tramping heavily with his over-shoes trodden down at heel, and slowly rolling his bulky, ungainly person as he moved, this man at last reached the very top of the stairs. He stopped before a half-open door, hanging off its hinges, and without ringing the bell, merely giving a noisy sigh, he swung into a small, dark ante-room. - Virgin Soil (ch. 1) [Books (First Lines)]
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