It is true that he is forty-five years old, but he is of a fairly prepossessing appearance and might still be thought attractive by women, and he is altogether a very respectable and presentable man, only he seems a little morose and somewhat conceited.
Note: Dostoevsky's humour is deliciously subtle. Don't say that he's attractive, but mention that by women he might still be considered so, and slide in the moroseness and conceitedness right at the end.
But why, he was always asking himself, why had such an important, such a decisive and at the same time such an absolutely chance meeting happened in the Hay Market (where he had moreover no reason to go) at the very hour, the very minute of his life when he was just in the very mood and in the very circumstances in which that meeting was able to exert the gravest and most decisive influence on his whole destiny? As though it had been lying in wait for him on purpose!
Note: divinity that shapes our ends
as though there had really been in it something preordained, some guiding hint....
Note: The role of fate.
To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's. In the first case you are a man, in the second you're no better than a bird.
Note: argument for individualism