“To live longer than forty years is bad manners, is vulgar, immoral. Who does live beyond forty? Answer” — Fyodor Dostoyevsky Copy Share Image
“I am forty years old now, and you know forty years is a whole lifetime; you know it is extreme old age.… — Fyodor Dostoyevsky Copy Share Image
“Now, I am living out my life in my corner, taunting myself with the spiteful and useless consolation that an intelligent man… — Fyodor Dostoyevsky Copy Share Image
“Beauty is not only a terrible thing, it is also a mysterious thing. There God and the Devil strive for mastery, and the battleground… — Fyodor Dostoyevsky Copy Share Image
“Listen! I know it's not right to talk. Better to set an example, better to just start - I have already started - and… — Fyodor Dostoyevsky Copy Share Image
“When all are undressed, one is somehow not ashamed, but when one's the only one undressed and everybody is looking, it's degrading,' he kept… — Fyodor Dostoyevsky Copy Share Image
“And what if there are only spiders there, or something of that sort” — Fyodor Dostoyevsky Copy Share Image
“I repeat, I repeat with emphasis: all "direct" persons and men of action are active just because they are stupid and limited. How explain… — Fyodor Dostoyevsky Copy Share Image
“He is a man of intelligence, but to act sensibly, intelligence is not enough.” — Fyodor Dostoyevsky Copy Share Image
“if [God] doesn't exist, man is the chief of the earth, of the universe. Magnificent! Only how is he going to be good without… — Fyodor Dostoyevsky Copy Share Image
“From an encounter in 1862... “Dickens told me,” Dostoyevsky recalled in a letter written years later, “that all the good, simple people in his… — Fyodor Dostoyevsky Copy Share Image
“It must be the top drawer," he reflected. "So she carries the keys in a pocket on the right. All in one bunch on… — Fyodor Dostoyevsky Copy Share Image
“- You take evil for good. It's a passing crisis. It's the result of your illness, perhaps. - You do despise me! It's simply… — Fyodor Dostoyevsky Copy Share Image
“Clouds overlaid the sky as with a shroud of mist, and everything looked sad, rainy, and threatening under a fine drizzle which was beating… — Fyodor Dostoyevsky Copy Share Image
