Fyodor Dostoevsky
Fyodor Dostoevsky
Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky; 11 November 1821 – 9 February 1881), sometimes transliterated Dostoevsky, was a Russian novelist, short story writer, essayist, journalist and philosopher. Dostoyevsky's literary works explore human psychology in the troubled political, social, and spiritual atmosphere of 19th-century Russia, and engage with a variety of philosophical and religious themes...
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth11 November 1821
CityMoscow, Russia
suffering able consciousness
What is hell?...The suffering that comes from the consciousness that one is no longer able to love.
sports suffering consciousness
Suffering is the sole origin of consciousness.
men long consciousness
Thus, as a result of heightened consciousness, a man feels as if it's all right if he's bad as long as he knows it- as though that were any consolation.
disease facts consciousness
But yet I am firmly persuaded that a great deal of consciousness, every sort of consciousness, in fact, is a disease.
heart mind consciousness
Although your mind works, your heart is darkened with depravity; and without a pure heart there can be no complete and true consciousness
life consciousness life-is
The consciousness of life is higher than life.
real illness conscious
To be too conscious is an illness. A real thorough going illness.
disease consciousness genuine
I swear to you, sirs, that excessive consciousness is a disease--a genuine, absolute disease.
too-much consciousness sickness
I am strongly convinced that not only too much consciousness but even any consciousness at all is a sickness.
people psychology serious
Psychology lures even most serious people into romancing, and quite unconsciously.
mad flying devil
I saw clear as daylight how strange it is that not a single person living in this mad world has had the daring to go straight for it all and send it flying to the devil! I...I wanted to have the daring...and I killed her.
squares years space
A special form of misery had begun to oppress him of late. There was nothing poignant, nothing acute about it; but there was a feeling of permanence, of eternity about it; it brought a foretaste of hopeless years of this cold leaden misery, a foretaste of an eternity "on a square yard of space.
love men suffering
Man is sometimes extraordinarily, passionately, in love with suffering...
hurt men thinking
I am a sick man...I am a wicked man. An unattractive man. I think my liver hurts. However, i don't know a fig about my sickness, and am not sure what it is that hurts me. I am not being treated and never have been, though I respect medicine. What's more, I am also superstitious in the extreme; well, at least enough to respect medicine.