A Hero of Our Time

by Mikhail Lermontov

I felt somehow happy to be so high above the world – a childish feeling, I grant, but we can’t help becoming children as we leave social conventions behind and come nearer to nature. All life’s experience is shed from us and the soul becomes anew what it once was and will surely be again.

To inspire in others love, devotion, fear – isn’t that the first symptom and the supreme triumph of power? To cause another person suffering or joy, having no right to do so – isn’t that the sweetest food of our pride? What is happiness but gratified pride?

Passions are merely ideas in their initial stage. They are the property of youth, and anyone who expects to feel their thrill throughout his life is a fool. Tranquil rivers often begin as roaring waterfalls, but no river leaps and foams all the way to the sea. Tranquillity, however, is often a sign of great, if hidden, power.

Everyone saw in my face evil traits that I didn’t possess. But they assumed I did, and so they developed. I was modest, and was accused of being deceitful, so I kept to myself. I had a strong sense of good and evil; instead of kindness I received nothing but insults, so I grew resentful. I was sullen, while other children were gay and talkative. I felt superior to them, and was set beneath them, so I became jealous. I was ready to love the whole world, but no one understood me, so I learned to hate. I spent my blighted youth in conflict with myself and the world. Fearing ridicule, I hid my best feelings deep within me, and there they died. I spoke the truth, but no one believed me, so I took to deceit. Knowing the world and the mainsprings of society, I became adept at the art of living. Yet I saw that others were happy without that art, enjoying for nothing the advantages I’d worked so hard to gain. That led me to despair, not the despair you can cure with a pistol barrel, but a cold, impotent despair that hid behind an affable exterior and a genial smile. I became a moral cripple. One half of my soul had ceased to exist. It had withered and died, so I cut it off and cast it away. But the other half was still active, living for the service of others. But no one noticed it, because no one knew of the dead half. But now you’ve reminded me of it – and I’ve pronounced its epitaph. Many people think epitaphs ridiculous, but I don’t, especially when I think what lies beneath th...

Love is like fire – without fuel it dies. Perhaps jealousy will succeed where pleas have failed.