Book: The dream of a ridiculous man

Sleep, they say, saw, delirium, hallucination.

Suffering is beauty, for in suffering the idea.

Meanwhile, after all, are one and the same, at least all aspire to the same, from the sage to the last robber, only by different roads.

And since then I preach! Also - love all that laughing at me, more than any other. Why is it so - I don't know and can't explain it, but so be it.

But people began to appear, which began to think: how would anyone like to talk to everyone, without ceasing to love himself more than anyone else, at the same time not to disturb anyone else, and thus live all together as if in oneness of society. The whole war was for this idea.

But the feeling of love of those innocent and beautiful people has remained in me forever, and I feel that their love is poured out upon me and now there. I saw them myself, they: knew that I loved them, I suffered for them afterwards.

... the world is now for me one and done: shot I and the world will not, at least for me.

To love others as yourself... that's the main thing.

I love, I can love only that land which I left on which were splashes of my blood, when I, ungrateful, shot in my heart, redeemed my life. But never, never ceased I to love the land, and even that night, in parting with her, I maybe loved her more painful than ever. Is there any anguish in this new earth? On our earth we can truly love only with pain and only through pain!
Otherwise, we do not know how to love and don't know other love. I want torment to love. I want I'm craving at this very minute to kiss, with tears, only one-that land which I left, and I don't accept life on any other!..