Quotes from Leo Tolstoy

It was as if the thread of the chief screw which held his life together were stripped, so that the screw could not get in or out, but went on turning uselessly in the same place.

I am certain, too, that such a soul, such a heart and principles, as are hers are not to be found elsewhere in the world of the present day." (I do not know whence he had derived the habit of saying that few good things were discoverable in the world of the present day, but at all events he loved to repeat the expression, and it somehow suited him.)

maggot gnaws the cabbage, but it dies before it's done; so the old folks used to say," he added

They could not understand the self denial of our emperor, who wants nothing for himself and everything for the good of the world.

assuming there are no sensations, it follows that there is no idea of existence.

Con la muerte todo quedará salvado: el oprobio y la deshonra de Alexiéi Alexándrovich y de Seriozha y mi terrible vergüenza. Si muero se arrepentirá, lo sentirá, me amará y sufrirá»

You're fool enough at all times, and when you start explaining things in Italian you're a fool three times as foolish,

And not only externally was all in order, but had it pleased the commander-in-chief to look under the uniforms he would have found on every man a clean shirt, and in every knapsack the appointed number of articles, "awl, soap, and all," as the soldiers say.

Life, that series of increasing torments, flies faster and faster as it nears its end, the most terrifying suffering of all.

Outside there was the same still frost, the same moonlight, only even brighter than before. The light was so bright, and there were so many stars sparkling in the snow, that the sky did not attract the eye, and the real stars were hardly noticeable. The sky was all blackness and dreariness, the earth all brightness.

All is vanity, all falsehood, except that infinite sky. There is nothing, nothing, but that.

Man's mind cannot grasp the causes of events in their completeness, but the desire to find those causes is implanted in man's soul. And without considering the multiplicity and complexity of the conditions any one of which taken separately may seem to be the cause, he snatches at the first approximation to a cause that seems to him intelligible, and says:

In our days," continued Vera—mentioning "our days" as people of limited intelligence are fond of doing, imagining that they have discovered and appraised the peculiarities of "our days" and that human characteristics change with the times—

If there were no magnanimity in war, we'd go to it only when it was worth going to certain death, as now. . . . We must take this terrible necessity sternly and seriously. That's the whole point: to cast off the lie, and if it's war it's war, and not a game.

Though Napoleon at that time, in 1812, was more convinced than ever that it depended on him, verser (ou ne pas verser) le sang de ses peuples1—as Alexander expressed it in the last letter he wrote him—he had never been so much in the grip of inevitable laws, which compelled him, while thinking that he was acting on his own volition, to perform for the swarm-life—that is to say for history—whatever had to be performed.

She was overcome by sweet sorrow, and tears were already rising to her eyes: then she suddenly asked herself to whom she was saying this? Again everything was shrouded in hard, dry perplexity, and again with a strained frown she peered towards the world where he was.

He felt himself, and did not want to be any one else. All he wanted now was to be better than before. In the first place he resolved that from that day he would give up hoping for any extraordinary happiness, such as marriage must have given him, and consequently he would not so disdain what he really had. Secondly, he would never again let himself give way to low passion.

Kitty looked into his face which was so near her own, and long after—for years after—that look so full of love which she then gave him, and which met with no response from him, cut her to the heart with tormenting shame.

si Eugène Irténieff était un malade psychique, alors tous les hommes le sont également, et parmi eux les plus malades sont ceux qui voient les indices de la folie chez les autres et ne les voient point en eux-mêmes.

The solution of all the possible questions of life could evidently not satisfy me, for my question, simple as it at first appeared, included a demand for an explanation of the finite in terms of the infinite, and vice versa.

He would often say the exact opposite of what he had said on a previous occasion, yet both would be right.

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There was the sound of the snapping of wood in the garden, and all was perfect stillness again. The lungs seemed breathing in, not air, but a sort of ever-youthful power and joy.

the true life is outside time; it is in the present