I felt something strange and momentous taking place within me. I was secretly in love with a classmate, a short fellow with dark skin.

My unhappiness stemmed entirely from my own vices, and I had no way of fighting anybody.

You see I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad things that happened to me.

I remained too much inside my head and ended up losing my mind.

When you pass'd my window home yesterday, I was fill'd with as much admiration as if I had then seen you for the first time... Even if you did not love me I could not help an entire devotion to you.

I felt as though the vessel if my suffering had become empty, as if nothing could interest me now. I had lost even the ability to suffer.

'Why, you are seriously ill, do you know that?' He began feeling his pulse. Raskolnikov pulled away his hand.

Be happy, noble heart, be blessed for all the good thou hast done and wilt do hereafter, and let my gratitude remain in obscurity like your good deeds.

But I being fond of true philosophy, / Say very often to myself, 'Alas! / All things that have been born were born to die, / And flesh (which Death mows down to hay) is grass; / You've pass'd your youth not so unpleasantly, / And if you had it o'er again - 't would pass -

When I breathe, / This sound in my chest / Lonelier than the winter wind.

Yes - or rather, it's not so much that I want to die as that I'm tired of living.

The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?

It's been months since I last wrote. I've lived in a state of mental slumber, leading the life of someone else. I've felt, very often, a vicarious happiness. I haven't existed. I've been someone else. I've lived without thinking.

'Are people so unhappy when they love?' 'Yes, Christine, when they love and are not so sure of being loved.'

If life were merely a habit, I should commit suicide; but even now, more or less desperate, I cannot but think, ‘Something wonderful may happen.’ It is not optimism, it is a rejection of self-pity (I hope) which leaves a loophole for life…

'Villains!' I shrieked. 'Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! Tear up the planks! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!'

If the book we are reading does not wake us, as with a fist hammering on our skull, why then do we read it?

(...) Savior has you come up in a row and asks with His big eyes: Where are my cattle now? What have you done with them? Did you make them available to the people at prices they could afford? Then where have they ended up?

morning / new / I can see / smell / feel / a new morning / one step / another / day / day and night / week / month / year / years / tens / hundreds / thousands / that's how I grow out of this earth to the earth / I / and those like me

Twitter has officially ended large-scale API usage meaning this account no longer works as intended, I shall keep it up and post quotes manually as I read books and keep it up as an archive but it will no longer be hourly. Thank you for your support up until now! ♡