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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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I love the sticky leaves in spring, the blue sky- that's all it is. It's not a matter of intellect or logic, it's loving with one's inside, with one's stomach.
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the more I love mankind in general, the less I love people in particular, that is, individually, as separate persons.
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Our brother Ivan is a sphinx, he maintains his silence, and guards it well. But I’m being tortured by the idea of God. That’s the only thing that does torture me. Supposing He doesn’t exist? What if Rakitin is right that the idea is man’s invention? For, if He doesn’t exist, man is master of the world, of all creation. Splendid! Only how is he going to be virtuous without God? That’s the question! I keep coming back to it. Who is he going to love then—man, I mean? To whom is he going to offer his gratitude, to whom is he going to sing his hymn of praise? Rakitin is ridiculous. Rakitin says you don’t need God to love mankind.
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Stupidity is brief and guileless, while reason hedges and hides. Reason is a scoundrel, stupidity is direct and honest.
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The danger lies not in the imaginary hydra of revolution, but in a stubborn traditionalism that impedes progress.
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The whole point of my article is that in ancient times, during its first three centuries, Christianity was revealed on earth only by the Church, and was only the Church. But when the pagan Roman state desired to become Christian, it inevitably so happened that, having become Christian, it merely included the Church in itself, but itself continued to be, as before, a pagan state in a great many of its functions.
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There have been and still are geometricians and philosophers, and even some of the most distinguished, who doubt whether the whole universe, or to speak more widely the whole of existence, was only created in Euclid's geometry; they even dare to dream that two parallel lines, which according to Euclid can never meet on earth, may meet somewhere in infinity. I have come to the conclusion that, since I can't understand even that, I can't expect to understand about God. I acknowledge humbly that I have no faculty for settling such questions, I have a Euclidean earthly mind, and how could I solve problems that are not of this world? And I advise you never to think about it either, my dear Alyosha, especially about God, whether He exists or not. All such questions are utterly inappropriate for a mind created with an idea of only three dimensions.
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The torments of a proud decision, a deep conscience! God, in whom he did not believe, and his truth were overcoming his heart, which still did not want to submit.
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She wanted, perhaps, to show her feminine independence, to overrideclass distinctions and thedespotism of her family.
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Above all, avoid lies, all lies, especially the lie to yourself. Keep watch on your own lie and examine it every hour, every minute. And avoid contempt, both of others and of yourself: what seems bad to you in yourself is purified by the very fact that you have noticed it in yourself.
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I want to join an idealist society, I’ll lead the opposition in it, I’ll say I am a realist, but not a materialist, he-he!
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Well, set the monster free...he's begun his hymn, because he finds it all so easy...but I'd give a quadrillion quadrillion for two seconds of joy.
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I have a dream about devils, it seems to be night, I’m in my room with a candle, and suddenly there are devils everywhere, in all the corners, and under the tables, and they open the door, and outside the door there’s a crowd of them, and they want to come in and grab me. And they’re coming close, they’re about to grab me. But I suddenly cross myself and they all draw back, afraid, only they don’t quite go away, they stand by the door and in the corners, waiting. And suddenly I have a terrible desire to start abusing God out loud, and so I start abusing him, and they suddenly rush at me again in a crowd, they’re so glad, and they’re grabbing me again, and I suddenly cross myself again—and they all draw back. It’s such terrible fun; it takes my breath away.
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Heavy burdens are not for everyone, for some they are impossible … These are my thoughts, if you need them so much.
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Oh, we will allow them to sin, too; they are weak and powerless, and they will love us like children for allowing them to sin. We will tell them that every sin will be redeemed if it is committed with our permission; and that we allow them to sin because we love them, and as for the punishment for these sins, very well, we take it upon ourselves.
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No living man lives without some sort of goal and a striving towards it. Having lost both goal and hope, a man often turns into a monster from anguish...
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Gentlemen, that’s enough to make an angel out of patience!
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His wife, however, happened to be the only woman in his life who failed totally to arouse any passion in him whatsoever.
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My poem is called ‘The Grand Inquisitor’—an absurd thing, but I want you to hear it.
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I came with horror to the conclusion that, if anything could dissipate my love to humanity, it would be ingratitude. In short, I am a hired servant, I expect my payment at once—that is, praise, and the repayment of love with love. Otherwise I am incapable of loving any one.
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