Sublime

having once turned coward, he could never afterwards be at peace. He was afraid—and did not even know why—he

‘I could never understand how one could love one’s neighbour. In my opinion it’s precisely those who are near to us that it is impossible to love, and one can love only those who are distant from us.

his arm outstretched, as though he had been only waiting for that question. “Why am I to be pitied, you say? Yes! there’s nothing to pity me for! I ought to be crucified, crucified on a cross, not pitied! Crucify me, oh judge, crucify me but pity me! And then I will go of myself

“And . . . the worst of it was he was so coarse, so dirty, he had the manners of a pothouse; and . . . and even admitting that he knew he had some of the essentials of a gentleman . . . what was there in that to be proud of? Everyone ought to be a gentleman and more than that . . . and all the same (he remembered) he, too, had done little things . 

Tolstoï, Léon. La Sonate à Kreutzer, Paris : Folio, 1974.

большой ли подлец их хозяин; на что половой, по обыкновению, отвечал: «О, большой, сударь, мошенник».