Mark André ’s Reviews > The Insulted and the Injured > Status Update

And with a rapid, spontaneous movement of his hand he pointed to the foggy vista of the street, lighted by street-lamps dimly twinkling in the damp mist, to the dirty houses, to the wet and shining flagstones, to the cross, sullen, drenched figures that passed by, to all this picture, hemmed in by the dome of the Petersburg sky, black as though smudged with Indian ink.

Perhaps I’d better go into an asylum, or something,” I thought at last, “to have my brains shaken up in my head and rearranged anew, and then be cured again.” So I still had a thirst for life and a faith in it. But I remember that it made me laugh. “What should I have to do after the madhouse? Write novels again?
So I brooded despondently, and meanwhile time was passing.

I remember, too, it came intomy mind how good itwould be ifby some mag­ ic, some miracle, I could forget everything that had hap­ pened in the last few years; forget everything entirely, refresh my mind,

You see: I want to write stories and sell them to the magazines just like you do.

It’s no joke to become a married man, is it_ _ I’ll no longer be a boy then ... I mean I shall be just like other people... that is, other married men.

Vanya, listen, if I do l-ove Alyosha madly, insanely, yet perhaps I love you even more as m y friend. I feel, I know that I couldn’t go on living without you. I need you. I need your soul, your heart of gold_ _ Oh, Vanya, what a bitter, a terrible time is before us!”

A writer, a poet. It seems strange somehow. When has a poet made his way in the world, risen to high rank? They’re only scribbling fellows after all, an unreliable lot.

How was I to tell them straight out that I did not wiant to enter the service, but wanted to write novels?

A new vista, new ideas... marvellous what a single ray of sunshine can do to a man’s soul!

Incidentally, I’ve always found mulling over my com- positions and imagining how they are likely to turn out more enjoyable than actually committing them to paper, and not just out of laziness. I wonder why that is!