You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again.

The darker the night, the brighter the stars, The deeper the grief, the closer is God!

I know you'll probably get angry with me for that, shout, stamp your feet: "speak just for yourself and your miseries in the underground, and don't go saying 'we all.'" Excuse me, gentleman, but I am not justifying myself with this allishness. As far as I myself am concerned, I have merely carried to an extreme in my life what you have not dared to carry even halfway, and, what's more, you've taken your cowardice for good sense, and found comfort in thus deceiving yourselves. So that I, perhaps, come out even more "living" than you.

But I always liked side-paths, little dark back-alleys behind the main road- there one finds adventures and surprises, and precious metal in the dirt.

It was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possible when we are young, dear reader.

I feel pity for him, and that is a poor sign of love.

Your hand is cold, mine burns like fire. How blind you are, Nastenka!