And in vain does the dreamer rummage about in his old dreams, raking them over as though they were a heap of cinders, looking into these cinders for some spark, however tiny, to fan it into a flame so as to warm his chilled blood by it and revive in it all that he held so dear before, all that touched his heart, that made his blood course through his veins, that drew tears from his eyes, and that so splendidly deceived him!
Fyodor DostoevskyIf you can put the question, 'Am I or am I not responsible for my acts?' then you are responsible.
Fyodor DostoevskyFaith does not, in the realist, spring from the miracle but the miracle from the faith.
Fyodor Dostoevsky