In some inland post feel the savagery, the utter savagery, had closed round him--all that mysterious life of the wilderness that stirs in the forest, in the jungles, in the hearts of wild men. There's no initiation either into such mysteries. He has to live in the midst of the incomprehensible, which is detestable. And it has a fascination, too, which goes to work upon him. The fascination of the abomination--you know. Imagine the growing regrets, the longing to escape, the powerless disgust, the surrender, the hate.

Of all the inanimate objects, of all men's creations, books are the nearest to us for they contain our very thoughts, our ambitions, our indignations, our illusions, our fidelity to the truth, and our persistent leanings to error. But most of all they resemble us in their precious hold on life.

It's only those who do nothing that make no mistakes, I suppose.

You shall judge a man by his foes as well as by his friends.

A certain simplicity of thought is common to serene souls at both ends of the social scale.

A writing may be lost; a lie may be written; but what the eye has seen is truth and remains in the mind!

Don't you forget what's divine in the Russian soul and that's resignation.