Se non fosse stato per questo disgraziato amore che ti ha sconvolto la vita, saresti prigioniero delle pareti domestiche, con una moglie sommessa e taciturna; ogni tanto ti sarebbe scappata di bocca qualche parola sgarbata; diffideresti di tutti, non sentiresti il bisogno di confidarti con nessuno: ti contenteresti di ammucchiare denaro. Al massimo, nella vecchiaia, cominceresti a esaltare i vecchi libri e ti faresti il segno della croce con due dita, come fanno gli eretici.
Otra pregunta, Iván: ¿crees que cualquiera tiene derecho a juzgar a sus semejantes y a decidir quién merece vivir y quién no?-En eso no tiene ningún papel la apreciación de los méritos. Para resolver semejante cuestión, el corazón humano no se funda en los méritos, sino en otras razones más naturales. En cuanto al derecho, ¿quién no lo tiene a desear una cosa?-Pero no la muerte de otro.-¿Por qué? ¿Qué razón hay para que uno se mienta a sí mismo cuando todos viven así y sin duda no pueden vivir de otro modo? Tú estás pensando en mi frase de hace un momento: «el destino de los reptiles es devorarse los unos a los otros».
Voi adauga totuşi că în orice idee omenească genială ori nouă, sau, pur şi simplu, chiar în orice idee cît de cît serioasă ce încolţeşte în capul unui om, există ceva care nu se poate comunica altuia chiar dacă ai scrie volume întregi, străduindu-te să explici această idee vreme de treizeci şi cinci de ani; întotdeauna va rămîne ceva netransmisibil, ceva care în ciuda străduinţelor tale nu va voi să iasă din cutia ta craniană şi va zăcea acolo mereu, pînă cînd nu vei mai fi, fără să fi exprimat sensul major al ideii tale.
The elder Zosima died! Grushenka exclaimed. Oh, Lord, I didn’t know! She crossed herself piously. Lord, but what am I doing now, sitting on his lap! She suddenly gave a start as if in fright, jumped off his knees at once, and sat down on the sofa. Alyosha gave her a long, surprised look, and something seemed to light up in his face. Rakitin, he suddenly said loudly and firmly, don’t taunt me with having rebelled against my God. I don’t want to hold any anger against you, and therefore you be kinder, too. I’ve lost such a treasure as you never had, and you cannot judge me now. You’d do better to look here, at her: did you see how she spared me? I came here looking for a wicked soul—I was drawn to that, because I was low and wicked myself, but I found a true sister, I found a treasure—a loving soul … She spared me just now … I’m speaking of you, Agrafena Alexandrovna. You restored my soul just now. Alyosha was breathless and his lips began to tremble. He stopped. Really saved you, did
He came softly, unobserved, and yet, strange to say, every one recognized Him. That might be one of the best passages in the poem. I mean, why they recognized Him. The people are irresistibly drawn to Him, they surround Him, they flock about Him, follow Him. He moves silently in their midst with a gentle smile of infinite compassion. The sun of love burns in His heart, light and power shine from His eyes, and their radiance, shed on the people, stirs their hearts with responsive love. He holds out His hands to them, blesses them, and a healing virtue comes from contact with Him, even with His garments. An old man in the crowd, blind from childhood, cries out, ‘O Lord, heal me and I shall see Thee!’ and, as it were, scales fall from his eyes and the blind man sees Him. The crowd weeps and kisses the earth under His feet. Children throw flowers before Him, sing, and cry hosannah. ‘It is He—it is He!’ all repeat. ‘It must be He, it can be no one but Him!’ He stops at the steps of the Seville cathedral at the moment when the weeping mourners are bringing in a little open white coffin. In it lies a child of seven, the only daughter of a prominent citizen. The dead child lies hidden in flowers. ‘He will raise your child,’ the crowd shouts to the weeping mother. The priest, coming to meet the coffin, looks perplexed, and frowns, but the mother of the dead child throws herself at His feet with a wail. ‘If it is Thou, raise my child!’ she cries, holding out her hands to Him. The procession halts, the coffin is laid on the steps at His feet. He looks with compassion, and His lips once more softly pronounce, ‘Maiden, arise!’ and the maiden arises. The little girl sits up in the coffin and looks round, smiling with wide-open wondering eyes, holding a bunch of white roses they had put in her hand.
You'll pray for us sinners; we have sinned too much here. I've always been thinking who would pray for me, and whether there's any one in the world to do it. My dear boy, I'm awfully stupid about that. You wouldn't believe it. Awfully. You see, however stupid I am about it, I keep thinking, I keep thinking--from time to time, of course, not all the while. It's impossible, I think, for the devils to forget to drag me down to hell with their hooks when I die. Then I wonder--hooks? Where would they get them? What of? Iron hooks? Where do they forge them? Have they a foundry there of some sort? The monks in the monastery probably believe that there's a ceiling in hell, for instance. Now I'm ready to believe in hell, but without a ceiling. It makes it more refined, more enlightened, more Lutheran that is. And, after all, what does it matter whether it has a ceiling or hasn't? But, do you know, there's a damnable question involved in it? If there's no ceiling there can be no hooks, and if there are no hooks it all breaks down, which is unlikely again, for then there would be none to drag me down to hell, and if they don't drag me down what justice is there in the world? Il faudrait les inventer, those hooks, on purpose for me alone, for if you only knew, Alyosha, what a blackguard I am.