Dostoevsky preaches the morality of the pariah, the morality of the slave.

The war imbued my tin soldiers with quite a new interest. It was impossible to have boxes enough of them.

It is useless to send armies against ideas.

Birth was something that came quite unexpectedly, and afterwards there was one child more in the house.

My first experiences of academic friendship made me smile in after years when I looked back on them. But my circle of acquaintances had gradually grown so large that it was only natural new friendships should grow out of it.

Dostoevsky preaches the morality of the pariah, the morality of the slave.

The stream of time sweeps away errors, and leaves the truth for the inheritance of humanity.