Dostoevsky On Suffering Novels & Stories

"But I will make you suffer, just like you made me suffer." Giovanni raised his head slowly, a flash of anger lighting his eyes. "Suffer?" he whispered, his voice sharp. "You think you're in a position to talk about suffering? You're nothing more than someone who would trample on the dignity of others for your own selfish desires."

I scoffed. "I don't care what he says to you but all I know is that you deserve all of these. I wanted to execute you. Finally, you know, end your life and get it over with but it's a waste. I can't just let you die and maybe find peace. You need to suffer! You need to suffer for the pain you caused me, Sophia, my children and other people! Do you know how much it takes for one to traffic another? Do you know what it takes to kill people and sell their organs? If course, you fucking do! It's what you do, right? You kill people. You maim them and you do it without thinking. Without conscience and now, you plead for me to forgive you? You whine about being in torments. It is why I put you here

'When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it--always. There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state with another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness. We must have felt what it is to die, Morrel, that we may appreciate the enjoyments of life.

Outside, snow hammered the windows while unresolved conversations from earlier still seemed to linger invisibly in the room. Malcolm finally asked the question that had been forming beneath his thoughts for days. “What if coherence prevents suffering more effectively than this?” The fisherman considered the question carefully instead of answering immediately. “That depends what you think suffering is.” Malcolm waited. The man leaned back slowly in his chair. “There’s pain that breaks living things apart,” he said quietly. “And there’s pain that changes them.” A long pause followed. “You built a world trying to eliminate both.” For the first time in years, Malcolm felt something dangerously c

He asked ruefully. - First, do what I said, then wash the dishes, then I will explain to you what will happen next, otherwise you yourself don’t understand a damn thing. It was really difficult for Sergei to understand anything. The head didn't work at all. From the realization that life had turned inside out in one day and turned into some kind of absurdity, he was overcome by deaf despair. This despair robbed of strength, which was almost gone anyway. It became much easier if you think about the fact that everything that is happening to him now is the present in which he has always lived. It's just that for some reason he forgot about who he really is, invented God knows what, and now he i

I poured out all my sorrow and pain in my heart. I can't take the pain anymore so I beat my chest but it doesn't have any effect. It's still very painful, it's so painful that it's like I want to disappear from this world. I wanted to disappear, I was just stunned by the ceiling. Remembering all the worries of Nana and my wife. I don't want to live anymore, I have no use in the world. I was overthinking so much that I couldn't think straight. When I saw a small blade on the table I immediately took it.

The only connection that I had with life and my existence on earth was pain. I felt numb without the pain, felt nothingness, at least the pain made me feel like something, it made me feel a little, like other humans. Without the pain, I was totally detached from reality, totally removed from the realm where normal people lived. He took a copy of the book he had been reading and turned the back page to write something. It was a copy of Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. A modernist novel that we were currently reading. His copy wasn’t brand new, it had dog pages, had been read over and over again. With some lines underlined.

he says forcefully. I don’t know what it was, but it was like a wall inside me came crashing down and every shred of anger I have buried over the years came flying out. A pulse of energy burst from me like a bomb, and I could feel my eyes had changed as I looked at the eyes of my creator who doomed me to a life of suffering. “Why? Do you Gods get some sick pleasure from watching us suffer? You have rules against intervening? That’s a bald-faced lie!” I rant in a rush.

“You must taste the bitterness of their suffering,” Visenya’s voice dripped with a chilling potency. “A torment you and your council ruthlessly unleashed upon them. Let it sear your conscience like a branding iron, let it etch into your soul the pain you inflicted upon the innocents. You will carry the weight of their anguish like a millstone around your neck, drowning in the depths of your own depravity.”

Kol murmurs softly at my side, trying to coax me into eating a cereal bar- he knows me well enough to know when I'm stressed, I won't eat proper meals, I pick. I snatch the raspberry and white chocolate chewy oat bar, and rip open the wrapper, "thanks." I mumble. This soul destroying scene keeps invading my consciousness; Douglas unconscious, bleeding.. Suffering.. Being tortured and abused. It chills my spine, but I can't bear to put that image on anybody else's shoulders so I keep it to myself, begging its not true. "How are you handling this so well?" I whisper, "why aren't you in the same state as I am? It's your son out there!"