In my case there was no first love. I began with the second.

He went to bed early, but could not fall asleep. He was haunted by sad and gloomy reflections about the inevitable end- death. These thoughts were familiar to him, many times had he turned them over this way and that, first shuddering at the probability of annihilation, then welcoming it, almost rejoicing in it. Suddenly a peculiarly familiar agitation took possession of him... He mused awhile, sat down at the table, and wrote down the following lines in his sacred copy-book, without a single correction.

Oh, gentle feelings, soft sounds, the goodness and the gradual stilling of a soul that has been moved; the melting happiness of the first tender, touching joys of love- where are you?

The past was a dream wasn't it? And who ever remembers dreams?

The temerity to believe in nothing.

The fact is that previously they were simply dunces and now they've suddenly become nihilists.

Most people can't understand how others can blow their noses differently than they do.