Fyodor Dostoevsky

has nothing to do with your wishes, and whether you like her laws or

dislike them, you are bound to accept her as she is, and consequently all

her conclusions. A wall, you see, is a wall ... and so on, and so on."

Merciful Heavens! but what do I care for the laws of nature and

arithmetic, when, for some reason I dislike those laws and the fact that

twice two makes four? Of course I cannot break through the wall by

battering my head against it if I really have not the strength to knock it

down, but I am not going to be reconciled to it simply because it is a stone

wall and I have not the strength.

As though such a stone wall really were a consolation, and really did

contain some word of conciliation, simply because it is as true as twice

two makes four. Oh, absurdity of absurdities! How much better it is to

understand it all, to recognise it all, all the impossibilities and the stone

wall; not to be reconciled to one of those impossibilities and stone walls if

it disgusts you to be reconciled to it; by the way of the most inevitable,

logical combinations to reach the most revolting conclusions on the

everlasting theme, that even for the stone wall you are yourself somehow

to blame, though again it is as clear as day you are not to blame in the

least, and therefore grinding your teeth in silent impotence to sink into

luxurious inertia, brooding on the fact that there is no one even for you to

feel vindictive against, that you have not, and perhaps never will have, an

object for your spite, that it is a sleight of hand, a bit of juggling, a card-

sharper's trick, that it is simply a mess, no knowing what and no knowing

who, but in spite of all these uncertainties and jugglings, still there is an

ache in you, and the more you do not know, the worse the ache.

IV

"Ha, ha, ha! You will be finding enjoyment in toothache next," you cry,

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