Mikhail Lermontov


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Full Name and Common Aliases

Mikhail Yurievich Lermontov was a Russian poet, novelist, and playwright. He is commonly referred to as the "Russian Byron" due to his romantic and melancholic style.

Birth and Death Dates

Lermontov was born on October 14, 1814, in Moscow, Russia, and died on July 27, 1841, at the age of 26, in Pyatigorsk, Caucasus.

Nationality and Profession(s)

Lermontov was a Russian poet, novelist, and playwright. His work primarily dealt with themes of love, nature, and social issues, often infused with a sense of melancholy and introspection.

Early Life and Background

Mikhail Lermontov was born into an aristocratic family in Moscow. His father, Yuri Petrovich Lermontov, was a general in the Russian army, while his mother, Maria Rozhdestvenskaya, came from a wealthy merchant family. The family's social standing allowed for a privileged upbringing, with Lermontov receiving a private education and exposure to literature and art from an early age.

Growing up, Lermontov was drawn to the romantic movement in Russian literature, which emphasized emotion, imagination, and individualism. He began writing poetry at a young age and was heavily influenced by European Romantic poets such as Lord Byron and Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

Major Accomplishments

Lermontov's literary career spanned only a few years, but he produced some of the most significant works in Russian literature during that time. His poetry collections, Death of a Poet (1837) and Songs of Russia (1840), showcased his mastery of language and form, as well as his deep exploration of themes such as love, loss, and social justice.

One of Lermontov's most famous works is the novel A Hero of Our Time, published in 1840. The novel tells the story of Pechorin, a disillusioned nobleman struggling with his own morality and sense of purpose. Through Pechorin's character, Lermontov critiqued the societal norms of his time, particularly the excesses of the Russian aristocracy.

Notable Works or Actions

A Hero of Our Time (1840): A novel that explores themes of love, morality, and social justice in 19th-century Russia.
Death of a Poet (1837) and Songs of Russia (1840): Poetry collections showcasing Lermontov's mastery of language and form.
Duel with Nikolai Martynov: In 1841, Lermontov fatally wounded Nikolai Martynov in a duel over a perceived insult. This tragic event marked the end of his life at the age of 26.

Impact and Legacy

Mikhail Lermontov's impact on Russian literature cannot be overstated. His works continue to be widely read and studied today, offering insights into the social and cultural context of 19th-century Russia. His poetry and novels have been translated into numerous languages, making him one of the most influential Russian writers.

Lermontov's legacy extends beyond his literary contributions. He is remembered as a symbol of romanticism and individualism in a society that often valued conformity over creativity. His tragic life and untimely death have become legendary in Russian literature, serving as a reminder of the sacrifices made by artists for their craft.

Why They Are Widely Quoted or Remembered

Mikhail Lermontov is widely quoted or remembered for his poignant and introspective writings on love, nature, and social issues. His works continue to resonate with readers today due to their timeless themes and masterful language. As a pioneering figure in Russian literature, Lermontov's contributions have had a lasting impact on the literary world.

Lermontov's quotes are often cited for their insight into human emotions and experiences. His writings offer a glimpse into the complexities of 19th-century Russia, making him an essential figure in understanding the cultural and social context of that era.

Key phrases to extract:

"Mikhail Lermontov was born on October 14, 1814, in Moscow, Russia."
"He is commonly referred to as the 'Russian Byron' due to his romantic and melancholic style."
"Lermontov's poetry collections, Death of a Poet (1837) and Songs of Russia (1840), showcased his mastery of language and form."

Quotes by Mikhail Lermontov

Mikhail Lermontov's insights on:

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We practically always excuse things when we understand them.
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I’m not certain whether I now believe in predestination or not, but that night I firmly believed in it. The proof had been striking, and regardless of the fact that I had ridiculed our forebears and their complacent astrology, I found myself thinking as they did – but I caught myself in time on this dangerous road, and having made it a rule never to reject anything categorically and never to believe in anything blindly, I cast metaphysics aside and began to watch the ground under my feet.
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He turned away and offered his hand in parting. She didn’t take it or say anything. But from where I was behind the door I could see her face through the crack. I pitied her to see how deathly pale that sweet little face had gone. Hearing no answer, Pechorin took a few steps towards the door. He was trembling, and I might say I think he was fit to do what he’d threatened as a joke. That’s the sort of man he was, there was no knowing him.
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Les joies s’oublient, les peines jamais.
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Oh vanity! You are the lever with which Archimedes wanted to raise the earthly globe!
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If I had even been his friend, well and good: the artful indiscretion of the true friend is intelligible to everybody; but I only saw Pechorin once in my life – on the high-road – and, consequently, I cannot cherish towards him that inexplicable hatred, which, hiding its face under the mask of friendship, awaits but the death or misfortune of the beloved object to burst over its head in a storm of reproaches, admonitions, scoffs and regrets.
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And then we had one of those conversations which make no sense on paper, which you can’t repeat and can’t even remember. The sounds mean more than the words, like in an Italian opera.
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My soul has been spoiled by the world, my imagination is unquiet, my heart insatiate. To me everything is of little moment. I become as easily accustomed to grief as to joy, and my life grows emptier day by day. One expedient only is left to me – travel.
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Note, my good doctor,” said I, “that without fools, society would be a very tiresome place!
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The story of a man’s soul, however trivial, can be more interesting and instructive than the story of a whole nation, especially if it is based on the self-analysis of a mature mind and is written with no vain desire to rouse our sympathy and curiosity. The problem with Rousseau’s Confessions is that he read them to his friends.
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