That a literature in our time is living is shown in that way that it debates problems.

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

I was not given to looking at life in a rosy light.

When I was a little boy I did not, of course, trouble much about my appearance.

Six hours a day I lived under school discipline in active intercourse with people none of whom were known to those at home, and the other hours of the twenty-four I spent at home, or with relatives of the people at home, none of whom were known to anybody at school.

It gradually dawned upon me that there was no one more difficult to please than my mother.

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