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Fyodor Dostoevsky

Fyodor Dostoevsky


Fyodor Mikhaylovich Dostoyevsky was a Russian writer, essayist and philosopher, perhaps most recognized today for his novels Crime and Punishment and The Brothers Karamazov.

Dostoyevsky's literary output explores human psychology in the troubled political, social and spiritual context of 19th-century Russian society. Considered by many as a founder or precursor of 20th-century existentialism, his Notes from Underground (1864), written in the embittered voice of the anonymous "underground man", was called by Walter Kaufmann the "best overture for existentialism ever written."

His tombstone reads "Verily, Verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit." from John 12:24, which is also the epigraph of his final novel, The Brothers Karamazov.
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إنك حين تزرع البذرة، حين تقوم بعمل «البر والإحسان» في أي صورة، حين تقوم بفعل الخير الذي تقوم به، إنما تهب جزءاً من شخصيتك وتأخذ جزءاً من شخصية الآخر. فيكون بين وجوديكما تواصل. ويكفي أن تنتبه قليلاً حتى تكافأ عن ذلك بالمعرفة، تكافأ باكتشافات لم تدر في خلدك قط. ولا بد أن تنتهي في الختام حتماً إلى أن تعد عملك الطيب علماً، فهو يسيطر على كل حياتك وربما ملأها تماما.
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Father,' he asked, 'are rich people stronger than anyone else on earth?' 'Yes Ilusha,' I said, 'there are no people on earth stronger than the rich.
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You must know that there is nothing higher and stronger and more wholesome and good for life in the future than some good memory, especially a memory of childhood, of home. People talk to you a great deal about your education, but some good, sacred memory, preserved from childhood, is perhaps the best education. If a man carries many such memories with him into life, he is safe to the end of his days, and if one has only one good memory left in one's heart, even that may sometime be the means of saving us. Perhaps we may even grow wicked later on, may be unable to refrain from a bad action, may laugh at men's tears and at those people who say as Kolya did just now, 'I want to suffer for all men,' and may even jeer spitefully at such people. But however bad we may become -- which God forbid -- [. . .] if we do become so will not dare to laugh inwardly at having been kind and good at this moment! What's more, perhaps, that one memory may keep him from great evil and he will reflect and say, 'Yes, I was good and brave and honest then!' Let him laugh to himself, that's no matter, a man often laughs at what's good and kind. That's only from thoughtlessness. But I assure you, boys, that as he laughs he will say at once in his heart, 'No, I do wrong to laugh, for that's not a thing to laugh at.
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...poverty is not a vice, that's a true saying. Yet I know that drunkenness too is not a virtue and that's even truer. But destitution, dear sir, destitution is a vice. In poverty you may still retain your innate nobility of soul , but in destitution-never-no-one. For destitution a man is not chased out of society with a stick, he is swept out with a broom to make it as humiliating as possible; and quite right, too, for in destitution I am the first to humiliate my self.
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Tom's whole being applauded this idea. It was deep, and dark, and awful; the hour, the circumstances, the surroundings, were in keeping with it.
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... me pregunto si es posible ser sincero con uno mismo; si uno puede decirse toda la verdad
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No podría expresarme mejor su desprecio que dejándome hablar libremente y sin censura de mi amor.
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Svaka ljubav prolazi, a razlike u karakteru zauvek ostaju.
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Quien para otro cava una zanja en ella cae
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The meanest and most hateful thing about money is that it even gives one talent.
topics: the-idiot  
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…have you noticed, Rodion Romanovitch, that in our Petersburg circles, if two clever men meet who are not intimate, but respect each other, like you and me, it takes them half an hour before they can find a subject for conversation – they are dumb, they sit opposite each other and feel awkward? Everyone has subjects of conversation, ladies for instance…people in high society always have their subjects of conversation, c’est de rigueur; but people of the middle sort like us, thinking people that is, are always tongue-tied and awkward. What is the reason of it? Whether it is the lack of public interest, or whether it is we are so honest we don’t want to deceive one another, I don’t know. What do you think?
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She is lying,” he thought to himself, biting his nails vindictively. “Proud creature! She won’t admit she wants to do it out of charity! Too haughty! Oh, base characters! They even love as though they hate... Oh, how I... hate them all!
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لا يعيش أي إنسان دون هدف ما ودون جهد يبذل من أجل الوصول إلى هذا الهدف، ومتى غاب الهدف وزال الأمل، فإن القلق غالبًا ما يجعل من الإنسان وحشًا !
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Why are they crying? Why are they crying?" Mitya asks, flying past them at a great clip. "The wee one, the driver answers, "it's the wee one crying." And Mitya is struck that he has said it in his own peasant way: "the wee one," and not "the baby." And he likes it that the peasant has said "wee one": there seems to be more pity in it. "But why is it crying?" Mitya insists, as if he were foolish, "why are its little arms bare, why don't they wrap it up?" "The wee one's cold, its clothes are frozen, they don't keep it warm." "But why is it so? Why?" foolsih Mitya would not leave off. "They're poor, burnt out, they've got no bread, they're begging for their burnt-down place." "No, no," Mitya still seems not to understand, "tell me: why are these burnt-out mothers standing here, why are the people poor, why is the wee one poor, why is the steppe bare, why don't they embrace and kiss, why don't they sing joyful songs, why are they blackened with such black misery, why don't they feed the wee one?" And he feels within himself that, though his questions have no reason or sense, he still certainly wants to ask in just that way, and he should ask in just that way. And he also feels a tenderness such as he has never known before surging up in his heart, he wants to weep, he wants to do something for them all, so that the wee one will no longer cry, so that the blackened, dried-up mother of the wee one will not cry either, so that there will be no more tears in anyone from that moment on, and it must be done at once, at once, without delay and despite everything, with all his Karamazov unrestraint.
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دروغ را به سبك خود گفتن، بهتر از حقيقتي است به تقليد ديگري
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So that you remember that you kissed my hand, but I didn't kiss yours.
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Do not weep, life is paradise, and we are all in paradise, but we do not want to know it, and if we did want to know it, tomorrow there would be paradise the world over.
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But destiny will be accomplished, and the best man will hold his ground while the undeserving one will vanish into his back-alley for ever - his filthy back-alley, his beloved back-alley, where he is at home and where he will sink in filth and stench at his own free will with enjoyment.
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بابا حين يهيلون على قبري التراب، فانثر فوقه فتات خبز ففتهافت عليه العصافير، فأسمع صوتها، فلا أشعر بأنني وحيد
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لكأن مشكلة النفس الإنسانية، لكأن المصير الذي ينتظرنا في الحياة الآخرة، أصبحت غريبة عن عقولهم، وهم قد نسوا ودفنوا هذا النوع من الاهتمامات والتساؤلات منذ زمن طويل..
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