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FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY
Russian novelist
(1821 - 1881)
  CHECK READING LIST (4)  

Taking a new step, uttering a new word is what people fear most.
      - [Fear]

On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge.
  He had successfully avoided meeting his landlady on the staircase. His garret was under the roof of a high, five-storied house and was more like a cupboard than a room. The landlady who provided him with garret, dinners, and attendance, lived on the floor below, and every time he went out he was obliged to pass her kitchen, the door of which invariably stood open.
      - Crime and Punishment [Books (First Lines)]

She too had been greatly agitated that day, and at night she was taken ill again. But she was so happy--and so unexpectedly happy--that she was almost frightened of her happiness. Seven years, only seven years! At the beginning of their happiness at some moments they were both ready to look on those seven years as though they were seven days. He did not know that the new life would not be given him for nothing, that he would have to pay dearly for it, that it would cost him great striving, great suffering.
  But that is the beginning of a new story--the story of the gradual renewal of a man, the story of his gradual regeneration, of his passing from one world into another, of his initiation into a new unknown life. That might be the subject of a new story, but our present story is ended.
      - Crime and Punishment [Books (Last Lines)]

In setting out to describe the recent and very strange events that took place in our town, hitherto not remarkable for anything, I am forced, for want of skill, to begin somewhat far back--namely, with some biographical details concerning the talented and much esteemed Stepan Trofimovich Verkhovensky. Let these details serve merely as an introduction to the chronicle presented here, while the story itself, which I am intending to relate, still lies ahead.
      - Demons (pt. 1, ch. 1),
        (Pevear and Volokhonsky translation)
        [Books (First Lines)]

I am a sick man. . . . I am a spiteful man. I'm an unattractive man. I think there is something wrong with my liver.
      - Notes from the Underground
        [Books (First Lines)]

Alexey Fyodorovitch Karamazov was the third son of Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov, a landowner well known in our district in his own day, and still remembered among us owing to his gloomy and tragic death, which happened thirteen years ago, and which I shall describe in its proper place. For the present I will only say that this "landowner"- for so we used to call him, although he hardly spent a day of his life on his own estate- was a strange type, yet one pretty frequently to be met with, a type abject and vicious and at the same time senseless. But he was one of those senseless persons who are very well capable of looking after their worldly affairs, and, apparently, after nothing else.
      - The Brothers Karamazov
        [Books (First Lines)]

"Certainly we shall all rise again, certainly we shall see each other and shall tell each other with joy and gladness all that has happened!" Alyosha answered, half laughing, half enthusiastic.
  "Ah, how splendid it will be!" broke from Kolya.
    "Well, now we will finish talking and go to his funeral dinner. Don't be put out at our eating pancakes- it's a very old custom and there's something nice in that!" laughed Alyosha. "Well, let us go! And now we go hand in hand."
      "And always so, all our lives hand in hand! Hurrah for Karamazov!" Kolya cried once more rapturously, and once more boys took up his exclamation:
        "Hurrah for Karamazov!"
      - The Brothers Karamazov
        [Books (Last Lines)]

"I think if the devil doesn't exist, then man has created him. He has created him in his own image and likeness." "Just as man created God, then?" observed Alyosha.
      - The Brothers Karamazov [Devil]

Towards the end of November, during a warm spell, at around nine o'clock in the morning, a train of the Petersburg-Warsaw line was approaching Petersburg at full steam. It was so damp and foggy that dawn could barely break; ten paces to right or left of the line it was hard to make out anything at all through the carriage windows. Among the passengers there were some who were returning from abroad; but the third-class compartments were more crowded, and they were petty business folk from not far away. Everyone was tired, as usual, everyone's eyes had grown heavy overnight, everyone was chilled, everyone's face was pale yellow, matching the color of the fog.
      - The Idiot [Books (First Lines)]


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