The Same Old Story

I desire nothing, seek nothing but peace, the slumber of the soul. I have tasted all the hollowness and wretchedness of life and I despise it heartily. Whoever has lived and thought cannot but, in his soul, despise humanity. Activity, cares, worries, distractions - I am sick of them all. I wish for nothing, I seek nothing. I have no aim, for one gains that which one is eager for - and sees that it is all illusion. My joyous days have passed. I have cooled to them. In the educated world, amidst human beings, I feel the disadvantages of life too strongly, but alone, far from the crowd, I turn to stone. In this trance anything can happen, I see neither others nor myself. I do nothing and do not notice the actions either of others or myself - and I am at peace, I am indifferent. There can be no happiness for me, and I will not succumb to unhappiness.

I expected so much from life and if I had not seen it so close, I would to this day be expecting something. What treasures I discovered in my own soul - where are they all? I have exchanged them for the world's coin, given my frankness, my first passion - and for what? For bitter disillusionment, for the knowledge that all is deception, all is brittle, that one can place trust neither in oneself nor in others - and I have come to fear both others and myself. I have not been able, along with this analysis, to accept the trifles of life and be content with them, as many others do.

The poor mother! This is the reward you get for your love. Is that what you expected? Well, the fact of the matter is that mothers don't expect rewards. There's no rhyme or reason — they just love.

Keep the fasts, my dear; that's supremely important! Wednesdays and Fridays, well, God will overlook that; but Lent itself, God forbid!

After all, how many people can count as many as ten years of happiness in their whole lives?

….what could be more sacred than friendship and loyalty?….

Goodbye, goodbye, may God bless you with happiness, success, honors, worldly goods and everything that's good.

You can't keep a young man like that locked up! Give him the freedom to spread the wings, and see what wonders he will work, what success he will achieve!

What can we do, Anna Pavlovna? We're all mere mortals! We are born to suffering, as it says in the Bible.

Don't get into the habit of drinking wine — no, it's man's worst enemy!

Money can be a curse: all evil comes from it, as well as all good. Don't squander it, don't cultivate extravagant tastes.

But don't worry, you have a mother. She won't sleep late. As long as a drop of blood remains in my veins, my eyes can still shed tears, and God tolerates my sins; if I don't have the strength to walk, I'll drag myself on my knees to the church door; I'll give up my last breath and offer up my last tear for you, my dear. I'll pray for your health, for your honors, promotions and decorations, and for every blessing that heaven and earth can bestow upon you. Surely Our Merciful Father will not reject the prayers of a poor old woman? I want nothing for myself. Let everything be taken from me, my health, my life, strike me blind, just as long as every joy, every happiness is granted you….

….remember to humble yourself before the Lord God, pray in happiness and in sorrow, and don't go by that old proverb: 'The common man never crosses himself until hears thunder.

No matter how high you rise, no matter what high society you'll be moving in — after all, we are just as good as others.

God alone knows what lies in store for you, and what things you will be seeing, both good and bad. I only hope that Our Heavenly Father will give you strength; but you, my dear, whatever you do, don't forget him, and remember: without faith there is no salvation anywhere or in anything.

This itself may even have stimulated a feeling of self-esteem within him, but, of course, self-esteem itself is nothing but a mold, and what results depends on what mixture is poured into it.

Art is its own thing, and so is craft — and creativity is common to both, in the same way as its absence. Without it, the craftsman is nothing, but just that: a craftsman; and not creative; and an artist without that creative spark is no poet: he is just someone who writes things.

Bad people are everywhere, but you won't find good ones easily.