White Nights

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

From early morning I had been oppressed by a strange despondency. It suddenly seemed to me that I was lonely, that every one was forsaking me and going away from me.

I had been living almost eight years in Petersburg I had hardly an acquaintance. But what did I want with acquaintances?

I felt afraid of being left alone, and for three whole days I wandered about the town in profound dejection, not knowing what to do with myself.