Book: Martin Eden

Martin's thoughts hovered far away, almost beyond consciousness. From time to time he made an effort to say something to Joe. But he loved Joe. But Joe was too full of life, and contact with him was now painful for Martin. It was too much of a burden for his tired soul.

He was too tired to think, and was already beginning to feel disgusted with himself, as if he had done something shameful and irreparable. Everything elevated in him was suppressed, his ambition was dulled, and his vitality weakened so much that he no longer felt any aspirations. He was dead. His soul was dead. He became just a beast, a working beast. He no longer noticed any beauty in the sunshine that pierced the green foliage, and the depth of the heavenly azure no longer excited him and did not evoke thoughts of the cosmos, full of mysterious mysteries that he so wanted to solve. Life was dull and meaningless, and it left a bad taste in my mouth. A black blanket was thrown over the screen of his imagination, and his fantasy languished, driven into a dark closet, into which not a single ray of light penetrated.

<...> the whole difference between these lawyers, officers, businessmen, bankers, on the one hand, and people of the working class, on the other, is based on the fact that they eat, live and dress differently. All of them equally lacked the very main thing that he found in books and felt in himself.

When you are painfully tired of life, death is ready to calm you down, to give you eternal sleep.

Who's dead won't get up!

Music has always influenced him strongly. She, like a strong wine, heated his feelings, intoxicated his imagination and carried him to the sky-high heights. He seemed to grow wings. The unsightly reality ceased to exist, giving way to the beautiful and extraordinary.

He did not find a new paradise, and the old one was irretrievably lost.

Life was painful for him, like a bright light for a person with sore eyes. Life sparkled before him and shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow, and he was in pain. It hurts unbearably.

- It's not fair! "Ah!" cried Ruth. - I knew that you will bring the conversation to a joke.
- But you must admit that the joke is witty!

The mind must not intervene in love Affairs.

You wanted to create beauty, and he knew nothing about the nature of beauty. You wanted to write about life, and he had no idea about its nature. You wanted to write about the world, and the world was a Chinese puzzle to you; and whatever you wrote, you would once again acknowledged his ignorance.

Now the universe appeared before him as a whole, and he wandered its byways, blind alleys and the maze is not like a lost traveler through the mysterious thicket pirouetting for an unknown purpose, but as a seasoned traveler, the watcher, trying not to miss anything and everything is bringing on a map. And the more he learned, the more fascinated the world and their own lives in this world.

Watching flying birds, he often reflected on the mechanism of their flight; but he never generalized this phenomenon and thought about the mechanism of flight in General and the development process that led to the emergence of the living flying creatures. He did not even suspect the existence of such a process. The birds could "become," did not come into his head. They "were" - that's all, it really happened. And as was the case with the birds, it was with everything else.

Everything is connected in the world, from the most distant star in the vast sky and down to the smallest grains of sand beneath a human foot.