Fyodor Dostoevsky Quotes

Though my heart is filled with feelings I want to convey You see, I can't express them in words If I had not met you I wouldn't even have such an embarrassing pain

Weren't you always distracted by expectation, as if every event announced a beloved? (Where can you find a place to keep her, with all the huge strange thoughts inside you going and coming and often staying all night.).

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so. After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns, we ourselves flash and yearn

The other girls in the village never felt restless. Nhamo was like a pot of boiling water. 'I want...I want...,' she whispered to herself, but she didn't know what she wanted and she had no idea how to find it.

What could he mean by speaking so, as if I were always thinking that he cared for me, when I know he does not; he cannot. ... But I won't care for him. I surely am mistress enough of myself to control this wild, strange, miserable feeling

Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within me.

The dead are happy, having no desire. I rise and fall, and rise and fall again, Something is in me, famishing for bread, Baffled and unappeasable as fire.

She was feeling the pressure of the world outside and she wanted to see him and feel his presence beside her and be reassured that she was doing the right thing after all.

I had seen ardency in men's eyes, but I had only felt it once. With Flauvic, false and therefore easy to dismiss. I suddenly wished that I could feel it now. No, I did feel it. I did have the same feeling, only I had masked it as restlessness, or as the exhortation to action, or as anger. I thought how wonderful it would be to see that spark now, in the right pair of eyes.

I'm not saying that I've cheated, being in an intense love with somebody while also feeling the pulls of being a young man, especially being an object of attention.

I was always looking out of the window, looking at my watch, thinking about when I could play football.

Everything is holding its breath inside me. Everything is waiting to explode like Christmas. I want to be all new and shiny. I want to sit out bad at night, a boy around my neck and the wind under my skirt. Not this way, every evening talking to the trees, leaning out my window, imagining what I can't see.

..this feeling haunts and inhabits me, like a sickness. it covers me, like skin.

I actually feel something in my chest open, a feeling so intense, it’s like my heart’s about to burst. And I just let it. I just let it out.

I am burdened with what the Buddhists call the 'monkey mind' -- the thoughts that swing from limb to limb, stopping only to scratch themselves, spit and howl.

The always-connected culture isn't as much a contributor as Grace might think. The nervous mind, the monkey mind, will create its own noise. It doesn't need a new toy.

The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.

I could call my wandering thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with the serious work of life which, now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child's play, ugly monotonous child's play.

I always have someplace else I’d rather be, even if I don’t know where that is, yet.

I am a jumble of passions, misgivings, and wants. It seems that I am always in a state of wishing and rarely in a state of contentment.

I like the sea: we understand one another. It is always yearning, sighing for something it cannot have; and so am I.

Didn't help to ponder things that were forever gone. It only made a body restless and fill up with bees, all wanting to sting something.

Prowling about the rooms, sitting down, getting up, stirring the fire, looking out the window, teasing my hair, sitting down to write, writing nothing, writing something and tearing it up...

I can't shut my brain off. It's like a hamster wheel." ~ Justin