“One can no more approach people without love than one can approach bees without care. Such is the quality of bees...”

Leo Tolstoy

“Every man experiences what you call love for every pretty woman and least of all for his wife. That is what the proverb says, and it is a true one. "Another's wife is a swan, but one's own is bitter wormwood.”

Leo Tolstoy

“It's hard to love a woman and do anything.”

Leo Tolstoy

“Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the company of intelligent women.

Leo Tolstoy

If in Doubt, don't do it”

Leo Tolstoy

“No, you’re going in vain,” she mentally addressed a company in a coach-and-four who were evidently going out of town for some merriment. “And the dog you’re taking with you won’t help you. You won’t get away from yourselves.”

Leo Tolstoy

“He was afraid of defiling the love which filled his soul.”

Leo Tolstoy

“Yes, it is very likely that I shall be killed tomorrow,’ he thought. And suddenly at this thought of death a whole series of most distant, most intimate, memories rose in his imagination: he remembered his last parting from his father and his wife; he remembered the days when he first loved her. He thought of her pregnancy and felt sorry for her and for himself, and in a nervously emotional and softened mood he went out of the hut in which he was billeted with Nesvitsky and began to walk up and down before it.”

Leo Tolstoy

“It would be a sin to help you destroy yourself.”

Leo Tolstoy

“Be bad, but at least don't be a liar, a deceiver!”

Leo Tolstoy

“You can love a person dear to you with a human love, but an enemy can only be loved with divine love.”

Leo Tolstoy

“Happiness is pleasure without regret”

Leo Tolstoy

“Are we not all flung into the world for no other purpose than to hate each other, and so to torture ourselves and one another?”

Leo Tolstoy

“Smiling with pleasure, they went through their memories, not sad, old people's memories, but poetic, youthful ones, those impressions from the very distant past where dream merges with reality, and they laughed softly, rejoicing at something.”

Leo Tolstoy

“the same question arose in every soul: "For what, for whom, must I kill and be killed?"

Leo Tolstoy


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