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448 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1932
"And it seemed as though in a little while the solution would be found, and than a new and splendid life would begin; and it was clear to both of them that they had still a long, long road before them, and that the most complicated and difficult part of it was only just beginning."
"And, indeed, is it not absurd even to think of justice when every kind of violence is accepted by society as a rational and consistent necessity, and every act of mercy - for instance, a verdict of acquittal - calls forth a perfect outburst of dissatisfied and revengeful feeling?" (p. 38)
"'Comprehension...' repeated Ivan Dmitritch frowning. 'External, internal.... Excuse me, but I don't understand it. I only know,' he said, getting up and looking angrily at the doctor - 'I only know that God has created me of warm blood and nerves, yes, indeed! If organic tissue is capable of life it must react to every stimulus. And I do! To pain I respond with tears and outcries, to baseness with indignation, to filth with loathing. To my mind, that is just what is called life. The lower the organism, the less sensitive it is, and the more feebly it reacts to stimulus; and the higher it is, the more responsively and vigorously it reacts to reality. How is it you don't know that? A doctor, and not know such trifles! To despise suffering, to be always contented, and to be surprised at nothing, one must reach this condition' - and Ivan Dmitritch pointed to the peasant who was a mass of fat - 'or to harden oneself by suffering to such a point that one loses all sensibility to it - that is, in other words, to cease to live. You must excuse me, I am not a sage or a philosopher,' Ivan Dmitritch continued with irritation, 'and I don't understand anything about it. I am not capable of reasoning." (p. 72)