Whereas I think: Iโm lying here in a haystack... The tiny space I occupy is so infinitesimal in comparison with the rest of space, which I donโt occupy and which has no relation to me. And the period of time in which Iโm fated to live is so insignificant beside the eternity in which I havenโt existed and wonโt exist... And yet in this atom, this mathematical point, blood is circulating, a brain is working, desiring something... What chaos! What a farce!
Ivan TurgenevLove isn't actually a feeling at all--it's an illness, a certain condition of body and soul.... Usually it takes possession of someone without his permission, all of a sudden, against his will--just like cholera or a fever.
Ivan TurgenevThat is what poetry can do. It speaks to us of what does not exist, which is not only better than what exists, but even more like the truth.
Ivan Turgenev