Diary of a Superfluous Man

But I had absolutely lost all sense of personal dignity, and could not tear myself away from the spectacle of my own misery.

Moreover, probably owing to excessive self-consciousness, perhaps as the result of the generally unfortunate cast of my personality, there existed between my thoughts and feelings, and the expression of those feelings and thoughts, a sort of inexplicable, irrational, and utterly insuperable barrier; and whenever I made up my mind to overcome this obstacle by force, to break down this barrier, my gestures, the expression of my face, my whole being, took on an appearance of painful constraint. I not only seemed, I positively became unnatural and affected. I was conscious of this myself, and hastened to shrink back into myself. Then a terrible commotion was set up within me. I analysed myself to the last thread, compared myself with others, recalled the slightest glances, smiles, words of the people to whom I had tried to open myself out, put the worst construction on everything, laughed vindictively at my own pretensions to 'be like every one else,'—and suddenly, in the midst of my laughter, collapsed utterly into gloom, sank into absurd dejection, and then began again as before—went round and round, in fact, like a squirrel on its wheel. Whole days were spent in this harassing, fruitless exercise.

That's what children are for—that their parents may not be bored.

Sentimental outbreaks are like liquorice; when first you suck it, it's not bad, but afterwards it leaves a very nasty taste in the mouth.

The misfortune of solitary and timid people - who are timid from self-consciousness - is just that, though they have eyes and indeed open them wide, they see nothing, or see everything in a false light, as though through coloured spectacles.

In the presence of death all the last earthly vanities disappear. I feel that I am quieting down; I am becoming more simple, more clear. I have acquired sense, but too late!

While a man is living he is not conscious of his own life; it becomes audible to him, like a sound, after the lapse of time.

I had not expected that. Generally speaking, people like me expect everything in the world except that which ought to happen in the ordinary run of things.

So, then, I suffered like a dog which has had the hind part of its body run over by a wheel. Only then, I become definitively aware how much pleasure a man may derive from the contemplation of his own unhappiness. Oh, men ! ye are, in reality, a pitiful race !

Liza and the Prince grew more and more attached to each other with every day that passed... But I positively lost all sense of my own dignity, and could not tear myself away from the spectacle of my unhappiness. I remember that one day I made an effort not to go, gave myself my word of honour in the morning that I would remain at home, and at eight o'clock in the evening (I usually went out at seven), I jumped up like a lunatic, put on my hat, and ran, panting, to Kirill Matvyeevitch's.

This MS. was read, and contents thereof disapproved, by Peter Zudotyeshin. M. M. M. M. Dear Sir, Peter Zudotyeshin, My dear Sir.

Desabafos sentimentais são como alcaçuz: no início, você mastiga e não parece ruim, mas depois fica um gosto horrível na boca.