إنني في حاجة إلى قصاص وعدل، وإلا دمرت نفسي. وهذا القصاص الذي أطالب به، أنا لا أريده في لا نهاية لا يمكن الوصول إليها، وفي أبدية تفوقني، وإنما أنا أريد أن أراه على هذه الأرض، أن أراه بعيني.

ما الذي يقعدك؟.. الفقر؟.. العوز؟.. ولكن الفقر هو الذي يصنع الفنان. وهو أمر لابد منه في البداية. إنك الآن إنسان مهمل، لا يحتاج إليك أحد، ولا يحتاج أحد أن يعرفك.. تلك هي الحياة..

Ah, Nastenka! Why, one thanks some people for being alive at the same time with one; I thank you for having met me, for my being able to remember you all my life!

Love had raised them from the dead, and the heart of each held endless springs of life for the heart of the other.

And who knows (one cannot vouch for it), perhaps the whole goal mankind strives for on earth consists just in this ceaselessness of the process of achievement alone, that is to say, in life itself, and not essentially in the goal, which, of course, is bound to be nothing other than two times two is four--that is, a formula; and two times two is four is no longer life, gentlemen, but the beginning of death.

I'm now asking an idle question of my own: which is better--cheap happiness, or lofty suffering? Well, which is better?

Does it matter whether it was a dream or a reality, if the dream made known to me the truth?

we have grown so out of the habit of even living that we sometimes feel sort of loathing for "living life", and therefore we cannot bear to be reminded of it. You see, we have reached the point where we look upon real "living life" almost as a burden, almost as servitude, and we are all agreed amongst ourselves that it is much better to live life according to books.