Fyodor Dostoevsky, fully Fyodor Mikhaylovich Dostoevsky or Feodor Mikhailovich Dostoevski

Dostoevsky, fully Fyodor Mikhaylovich Dostoevsky or Feodor Mikhailovich Dostoevski

Russian Novelist, Short-Story Writer and Essayist best known for his novels Crime and Punishment, The Idiot and The Brothers Karamazov

Author Quotes

Those were not the sounds of a violin, but that seemed a terrible voice had begun to roar, for the first time in our dark house. Perhaps my impressions were distorted and sick, maybe my feelings were shocked by everything I had witnessed, and already predisposed to feel terrible, full of torment with no escape: but I am firmly convinced that I heard groans, human cries, tears, a whole despair poured into those sounds. .

To begin with, at home I spent most of my time reading. I wanted to stifle all that was continuously boiling up inside me through external impressions. Out of all external impressions, reading was the only one possible for me. Of course, reading helped a lot - it excited, delighted and tormented me. But at times it bored me to death. For all that I still wanted to be doing things and I would suddenly plunge into dark, subterranean, vile, not so much depravity as petty dissipation. My mean, trivial, lusts were keen and fiery as a result of my constant, morbid irritability. The surges were hysterical, always accompanied by tears and convulsion. Apart from reading I had nowhere to turn - I mean, there was nothing in my surroundings that I could respect then or to… Read more

To whom is he to go if you are not together, mother and father?

Very often the only way it seems that there is no common points, and they have a very ... it's because of laziness human is that people are so Intermedia are sorted by eye and cannot find anything.

We degrade God too much, ascribing to him our ideas, in our vexation at being unable to understand Him.

They say that gentleness tremendous strength.

Though I do not believe in the order of things, still the sticky little leaves that come out in the spring are dear to me, the blue sky is dear to me, some people are dear to me, whom one loves sometimes, would you believe it, without even knowing why; some human deeds are dear to me, which one has perhaps long ceased believing in, but still honors with one's heart, out of old habit...

To care only for well-being seems to me positively ill-bred. Whether it’s good or bad, it is sometimes very pleasant, too, to smash things.

Tomorrow is the threat of nothingness, and will not be happy. This is an insult to the deep ... Therefore, I do not have to suffer and to be, in my mind that this is asking, and there are brazen nature of water beyond the plaintiff, the prosecutor and the defendant, along with myself, I'm doomed ... For I cannot destroy nature, I would just do it myself, there is no criminal endure a tyranny as weary.

Very well, I agree that two and two make four is an excellent thing; but...two and two make five is also a very fine thing too.

We degrade Providence too much by attributing our ideas to it out of annoyance at being unable to understand it.

They say that people standing on a height have an impulse to throw themselves down. I imagine that many suicides and murders have been committed simply because the revolver has been in the hand. It is like a precipice, with an incline of an angle of forty-five degrees, down which you cannot help sliding, and something impels you irresistibly to pull the trigger. But the knowledge that I had seen, that I knew it all, and was waiting for death at her hands without a word - might hold her back on the incline.

Though I have said that I envy the normal man to the point of exasperation, yet I would not care to be in his place as he is now (though I will not stop envying him. No, no; anyway the underground life is more advantageous!) There, at any rate, one can-- bah! But after all, even now I am lying! I am lying because I know myself as surely as two times two makes four, that it is not at all underground that is better, but something different, quite different, for which I long but which I cannot find! Damn underground!

To celebrate my first hour of freedom. It's been going on nearly six months, and all at once I've thrown it off. I could never have guessed, even yesterday how easy it would be to put an end to it if I wanted.

Too noisy and industrial becoming in humanity, a little peace spiritual, - complains one retired thinker. Let but the sound of carts, driving up bread to the hungry humanity, it may be better spiritual tranquility - triumphantly to the other, driving around everywhere thinker, and leaves him with vanity. I do not believe ... carts, driving up the bread to humanity!

Viper will eat viper, and it would serve them both right!

We don’t even know what living means now, what it is, and what it is called? Leave us alone without books and we shall be lost and in confusion at once. We shall not know what to join on to, what to cling to, what to love and what to hate, what to respect and what to despise. We are oppressed at being men—men with a real individual body and blood, we are ashamed of it, we think it a disgrace and try to contrive to be some sort of impossible generalized man.

They say the sun brings life to the universe. The sun will rise and--look at it. Isn't it dead? Everything is dead. Dead men are everywhere. There are only people in the world, and all around them is silence--that's what the earth is.

Though the sleepy, myopic, and rather bald-pated figure reflected in the mirror was precisely of such insignificant quality as to arrest decidedly no one's exclusive attention at first sight, its owner evidently remained perfectly pleased with all he saw in the mirror.

To confess one's guilt and one's original sin is little, very little; one must wean oneself away from them completely. And that takes more than a little time.

Truly great men must, I think, experience great sorrow on the earth.

Walking along the crowded row. He met the one he used to know.

We don't understand that life is heaven, for we have only to understand that and it will at once be fulfilled in all its beauty, we shall embrace each other and weep.

They showed me their trees, and I could not understand the intense love with which they looked at them; it was as though they were talking with creatures like themselves. And perhaps I shall not be mistaken if I say that they conversed with them. Yes, they had found their language, and I am convinced that the trees understood them. They looked at all Naturelike that — at the animals who lived in peace with them and did not attack them, but loved them, conquered by their love.They pointed to the stars and told me something about them which I could not understand, but I am convinced that they were somehow in touch with the stars, not only in thought, but by some living channel.

Though there was no longer anything to be astonished at, still manifest reality always has something shocking about it.

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Dostoevsky, fully Fyodor Mikhaylovich Dostoevsky or Feodor Mikhailovich Dostoevski
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Russian Novelist, Short-Story Writer and Essayist best known for his novels Crime and Punishment, The Idiot and The Brothers Karamazov