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!
—  Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment.
God is necessary, and therefore must exist."
“Well, that’s wonderful.”
“But I know that he does not and cannot exist.”
“That’s more like it.”
“Don’t you understand that a man with these two thoughts cannot go on living?
—  Fyodor Dostoevsky, Demons

My brother asked the birds to forgive him; that sounds senseless, but it is right; for all is like an ocean, all is flowing and blending; a touch in one place sets up movement at the other end of the earth. It may be senseless to beg forgiveness of the birds, but birds would be happier at your side – a little happier, anyway – and children and all animals, if you were nobler than you are now. It’s all like an ocean, I tell you. Then you would pray to the birds too, consumed by an all-embracing love, in a sort of transport, and pray that they too will forgive you your sin. Treasure this ecstasy, however senseless it may seem to men.

—  Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
Allow me to give you some advice from the heart: don’t give up art, and even give yourself over to it even more than so far. […] Living in solitude and embittering your soul with recollections, you can make your life very gloomy. There is a single refuge, a single medicine: art and creative work.
—  Fyodor Dostoevsky in a letter to Yekaterina Yunge, 11 April 1880
My friend, I’ve been lying all my life. Even when I was telling the truth. I never spoke for the truth, but only for myself, I knew that before, but only now do I see … Oh, where are those friends whom I have insulted with my friendship all my life? And everyone, everyone! Savez-vous, perhaps I’m lying now; certainly I’m also lying now. The worst of it is that I believe myself when I lie. The most difficult thing in life is to live and not lie … and … and not believe one’s own lie, yes, yes, that’s precisely it!
—  Fyodor Dostoevsky, Demons
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