The Brothers Karamazov: A Novel in Four Parts With Epilogue

“Lord have mercy on them all today, unhappy and stormy as they are, preserve and guide them. All ways are yours: save them according to your ways. You are love, you will send joy to all!”

let it be known to you, fool, that we here are unbelievers only out of carelessness, because we don’t have time: first, we’re too beset with business, and second, God gave us too little time, he only allotted twenty-four hours to a day, so that there isn’t even time enough to sleep, let alone repent.

It’s still possible to love one’s neighbor abstractly, and even occasionally from a distance, but hardly ever up close.

It’s even more fearful when someone who already has the ideal of Sodom in his soul does not deny the ideal of the Madonna either, and his heart burns with it, verily, verily burns, as in his young, blameless years.

“Feed us, for those who promised us fire from heaven did not give it.”

“Better that you enslave us, but feed us.”

“You weren’t quite joking, that is true. This idea is not yet resolved in your heart and torments it. But a martyr, too, sometimes likes to toy with his despair, also from despair, as it were. For the time being you, too, are toying, out of despair, with your magazine articles and drawing-room discussions, without believing in your own dialectics a

And that means that you, too, Grigory Vasilievich, do not believe in a proper manner, and merely scold others for it in every possible way.

“No, there is no God.” “Alyoshka, is there a God?” “There is.”