“If he has a conscience he will suffer for his mistake. That will be his punishment—as well as the prison.” “But the real geniuses,” asked Razumihin frowning, “those who have the right to murder? Oughtn’t they to suffer at all even for the blood they’ve shed?” “Why the word ought? It’s not a matter of permission or prohibition. He will suffer if he is sorry for his victim.
“Ah, how I hate the old woman now! I feel I should kill her again if she came to life! Poor Lizaveta! Why did she come in? . . . It’s strange though, why is it I scarcely ever think of her, as though I hadn’t killed her?
“The old woman was a mistake perhaps, but she is not what matters! The old woman was only an illness. . . . I was in a hurry to overstep. . . . I didn’t kill a human being, but a principle! I killed the principle, but I didn’t overstep, I stopped on this side. . . . I was only capable of killing.
Why was that fool Razumihin abusing the socialists? They are industrious, commercial people; ‘the happiness of all’ is their case.
No, life is only given to me once and I shall never have it again; I don’t want to wait for ‘the happiness of all.’ I want to live myself, or else better not live at all. I simply couldn’t pass by my mother starving, keeping my rouble in my pocket while I waited for the ‘happiness of all.’ I am putting my little brick into the happiness of all
I stopped on this side. . . . I was only capable of killing.
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