roseofcamorr:

literature meme | prose (1/?): Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

It was first published in the literary journal The Russian Messenger in twelve monthly installments during 1866. It was later published in a single volume. This is the second of Dostoyevsky’s full-length novels following his return from ten years of exile in Siberia. Crime and Punishment is the first great novel of his “mature” period of writing.

(via booklover)

"The value of things is not the time they last, but the intensity with which they occur. That is why there are unforgettable moments and unique people!"
— Fernando Pessoa

Just Empty Promises (by bloodyxgraphics)

All perfect things are saddening in effect.
The autumn wood robed in its scarlet clothes,
The matchless tinting on the royal rose
Whose velvet leaf by no least flaw is flecked.
Love’s supreme moment, when the soul unchecked
Soars high as heaven, and its best rapture knows,
These hold a deeper pathos than our woes,
Since they leave nothing better to expect.

Resistless change, when powerless to improve,
Can only mar.  The gold will pale to grey—
No thing remains tomorrow as today,—
The rose will not seem quite so fair, and love
Must find its measures of delight made less.
Ah, how imperfect is all Perfectness!

Perfectness by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

"I do not think that tragedy is our natural fate and I do not live in chronic dread of disaster. It is no happiness, but suffering that I consider unnatural. It is not success, but calamity that I regard as the abnormal exception in Human Life."
— Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged
"The trouble is you can shut your eyes but you can’t shut your mind."
— Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

Summer wind III (by SafetyInNumbness)

I think, no matter where you stray,
That I shall go with you a way.
Though you may wander sweeter lands,
You will not soon forget my hands,
Nor yet the way I held my head,
Nor all the tremulous things I said.
You still will see me, small and white
And smiling, in the secret night,
And feel my arms about you when
The day comes fluttering back again.
I think, no matter where you be,
You’ll hold me in your memory
And keep my image, there without me,
By telling later loves about me.

But Not Forgotten by Dorothy Parker