Notes from the Underground - Dostoevsky
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Another time I tried hard to fall in love. This happened to me twice, as a matter of fact. And I can assure you, gentlemen, I suffered terribly. In my heart of hearts, of course, I did not believe that I was suffering, I'd even sneer at myself in a vague sort of way, but I suffered agonies none the less, suffered in the most genuine manner imaginable, as though I were really in love. I was jealous. I made scenes. And all because I was so confoundedly bored, gentlemen, all because I was so horribly bored. Crushed by doing nothing. For the direct, the inevitable, and the legitimate result of consciousness is to make all action impossible, or -- to put it differently -- consciousness leads to thumb-twiddling.
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But try letting yourself be carried away by your emotions blindly, without reasoning, without any primary cause, letting your consciousness go hang at least for a time; hate or love just for the sake of not having to twiddle your thumbs. What will happen, of course, is that the day after tomorrow (and that at the latest) you will begin despising yourself for having knowingly duped yourself.
p.s. ne fakt nuk po dija cilën pjesë të vendosja këtu pasi më pëlqen çdo mendim i tij tek "Shkrime nga nëntoka". Kam ditë që i lexoj e rrilexoj edhe pse nuk kam kohë për lexime fatkeqsisht.
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