“Just as a painter needs light in order to put the finishing touches to his picture, so I need an inner light, which I feel I never have enough of in the autumn.”

Leo Tolstoy

“I am always with myself, and it is I who am my tormentor.”

Leo Tolstoy

“There was no answer, except the general answer life gives to all the most complex and insoluble questions. That answer is: one must live for the needs of the day, in other words, become oblivious.”

Leo Tolstoy

“He remembered his mother's love for him, and his family's, and his friends', and the enemy's intention to kill him seemed impossible.”

Leo Tolstoy

“The only thing that we know is that we know nothing, and that is the highest flight of human wisdom.”

Leo Tolstoy

“Reason is often the slave of sin; it strives to justify it.”

Leo Tolstoy

“The same talk, the same thoughts, and always about the same things! And they are all satisfied and confident that it should be so, and will go on living like that till they die.”

Leo Tolstoy

“Pierre was right when he said that one must believe in the possibility of happiness in order to be happy, and I now believe in it. Let the dead bury the dead, but while I'm alive, I must live and be happy.”

Leo Tolstoy

“But perhaps it is always so, that men form their conceptions from fictitious, conventional types, and then—all the combinations made—they are tired of the fictitious figures and begin to invent more natural, true figures.”

Leo Tolstoy

“There was no solution but that usual solution which life gives to all questions, even the most complex and insoluble. That answer one must live in the needs of one that - that is, forget oneself.”

Leo Tolstoy

“It seems that only God can know the truth; it is to Him alone we must appeal, and from Him alone expect mercy.”

Leo Tolstoy

“God is the same everywhere.”

Leo Tolstoy

“That one must either explain life to oneself so that it does not seem to be an evil mockery by some sort of devil, or one must shoot oneself.”

Leo Tolstoy

“The very nastiest and coarsest, I can't tell you. It is not grief, not dullness, but much worse. It is as if all that was good in me had hidden itself, and only what is horrid remains.

Leo Tolstoy

“What a strange illusion it is to suppose that beauty is goodness.

Leo Tolstoy


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