What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
adjutant answered Arbusoff looked arms Arnoldi asked beautiful began caresses cold Cornet Krause cried Arbusoff dark Davidenko Dchenieff dead death doctor door drink Eugenia Samoilovna everything eyes face feel felt flashed garden gazed Genitchka girl glance glass grey hair hands happiness head heard heart human involuntarily Ivan Ivanovitch kiss knew Krause's laughed Lida light lips Lisa listened little student live looked round Maria Pavlovna Michailov minute Mishka moustache moved murmured Naumoff Nelly never night old woman once pale perhaps Polina Grigorievna quickly raised replied Ryskoff Sachar Samoi samovar seemed seized Serge shadows shook shoulders shouted sick woman silent sitting slowly smiled softly soul Steppes steps stood strange suddenly talk Tchish tears terrible thing thought took trembling Trenieff troika turned vodka voice What's whole wife window words young
Page 246 - stood in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do next. The
Page 12 - He believed that only the life of yesterday and to-day, and perhaps of to-morrow also, presented such a chaotic, aimless outlook. After that a mighty wave would come, sweeping away all that was old and dirty and bringing with it a harmonious, mathematically regulated happiness, in which he, the young exiled student, that paltry mortal creature, should
Page 38 - And had he known who was guilty of this mass of useless agony, the old doctor would have gone up to him with fearless, open countenance, and cursed him—nor feared pain, death, or the last judgment. ... So full of pity and bitterness was this man's weary soul. But he knew that help was impossible and that neither
Page 146 - I am convinced that it would never occur to anyone who was not ill, mad, or had gone off the tracks in some way, to send a bullet through his head, or crawl into the noose, the devil only knowing why.
Page 32 - to picture them. It was as though he saw some absurd, crude picture, painted upon a curtain by a dilettante, hiding the black emptiness beyond. . . . What were they, God, heaven, the cosmos ? ... a little heap of decaying bones, a light
Page 272 - It must mean that his life was precious to him . . . this empty, unessential life was, in spite of its proved absurdity, dearer to him than his inmost self, which clung grovelling to the life that had cursed it.
Page 402 - Why should there be these millions of duplicates when even the original is vile ? . . . Perhaps it's raining just like this at hundreds of places, the same filthy weather, the same wind and gloom, and a couple like
Page 270 - is useless. It is futile to begin a new day, to dress, to eat and drink, to speak, to think. Not that he was tired of it all . . . no, it is merely that it is so pointless.
Page 32 - out, and nothing more. One might argue about religion and believe in immortality as long as the intellect could work and the body enjoy life to the full, but now, when all might see how