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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.

-Fyodor Dostoevsky

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A Special Form Of Misery Had Begun

Fyodor Dostoevsky

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.

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    <p style="font-size: 1.2rem; font-style: italic; margin-bottom: 10px;">"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 &quot;on a square yard of space."</p>
    <footer style="font-size: 1rem; font-weight: bold;">— Fyodor Dostoevsky</footer>
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Squares Years Space

More From Fyodor Dostoevsky

It´s a good thing when a man is different from your image of him. is shows he isn´t a type. if he were, it would be the end of him as a man. but if you can´t place him in a category, it means that at least a part of him is what a human being ought to be. he has risen above himself, he has a grain of immortality.

I’m cold,' snowden said softly, 'i’m cold.' 'you’re going to be all right, kid,' yossarian reassured him with a grin. 'you’re going to be all right.' 'i’m cold,' snowden said again in a frail, childlike voice. 'i’m cold.' 'there, there,' yossarian said, because he did not know what else to say. 'there, there.' 'i’m cold,' snowden whimpered. 'i’m cold.' 'there, there. there, there.

Where is it i've read that someone condemned to death says or thinks, an hour before his death, that if he had to live on some high rock, on such a narrow ledge that he'd only room to stand, and the ocean, everlasting darkness, everlasting solitude, everlasting tempest around him, if he had to remain standing on a square yard of space all his life, a thousand years, eternity, it were better to live so than to die at once. only to live, to live and live! life, whatever it may be!

About dreams. it is usually taken for granted that you dream of something that has made a particularly strong impression on you during the day, but it seems to me it´s just the contrary. often it´s something you paid no attention to at the time -- a vague thought that you didn´t bother to think out to the end, words spoken without feeling and which passed unnoticed -- these are the things that return at night, clothed in flesh and blood, and they become the subjects of dreams, as if to make up for having been ignored during waking hours.

Every parting gives a foretaste of death; every remeeting a foretaste of the resurrection. that is why even people who are indifferent to each other rejoice so much if they meet again after twenty or thirty years of separation.

Scout, i´m telling you for the last time, shut your trap or go home - i declare to the lord you´re gettin´ more like a girl every day!” with that, i had no option but to join them.

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