Why is it that when you awake to the world of realities you nearly always feel, sometimes very vividly, that the vanished dream has carried with it some enigma which you have failed to solve? — Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot. (Modern Library; New edition edition, April 8, 2003) Originally published 1869,
I love you, and loving you I torment you. — Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov. (Farrar, Straus and Giroux; 12th edition June 14, 2002) Originally published November 1880.
I have a longing for life, and I go on living in spite of logic. Though I may not believe in the order of the universe, yet I love the sticky little leaves as they open in spring. I love the blue sky, I love some people, whom one loves you know sometimes without knowing… Continue reading Fyodor Dostoevsky
But Lord, how much love, how much love I used to experience in my daydreams… — Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground. (Vintage; Reprint edition August 30, 1994) Originally published 1864.
I tell you, the universe is the scratch of a match on the face of the calculus. And my thoughts are a picklock at work on a door, and behind it someone is dying. — Velimir Khlebnikov, “Suppose I make a timepiece of humanity,” (January 28th, 1922), The King of Time: Selected Writings of the… Continue reading Velimir Khlebnikov
On our earth we can only love with suffering and through suffering. We cannot love otherwise, and we know of no other sort of love. — Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Dream of a Ridiculous Man. (Kessinger Publishing, LLC June 17, 2004) Originally published 1877.
Talk nonsense, but talk your own nonsense, and I’ll kiss you for it. —Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment. (Everyman’s Library; 12th edition May 25, 1993) Originally published 1866.
There is immeasurably more left inside than what comes out in words. Your thought, even a bad one, while it is with you, is always more profound, but in words it is more ridiculous and dishonorable. — Fyodor Dostoevsky
There’s less and less love, and less and less daring, and time is a battering ram against my head. — Vladimir Mayakovsky, from “Conversation With a Tax Collector About Poetry,” The Bedbug and Selected Poetry. (Indiana University Press October 22, 1975) Originally published 1929.
Oh, but she had been so pretty in the weaving of those delicate spells, in the dreamy performance of her enchantments… — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita. (Olympia Press 1955)