White Nights

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

he desires nothing, because he is above desire, because he has everything, because he is sated, because he himself is the artist of his life and he creates it for himself every hour to suit his latest whim.

You know, we thank some people for merely living at the same time as we do. I thank you for the fact that I met you, that I will remember you for all my life!’

I would crush even one of those delicate flowers that you plaited into your black curls when you walked together with him to the altar … Oh, never, never!