Notes from the Underground

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

a great deal of consciousness, every sort of consciousness, in fact, is a disease.

what was done could never be undone,

that you never could become a different man; that even if time and faith were still left you to change into something different you would most likely not wish to change; or if you did wish to, even then you would do nothing; because perhaps in reality there was nothing for you to change into.

the enjoyment, of course, of despair;

for us people who think and consequently do nothing;