What doyouthink?
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282 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1913
In a narrow, darkened room, my father, dressed in a white and unusually long garment, lay on the floor under the window. The toes of his bare feet were curiously extended, and the fingers of the still hands, which rested peacefully upon his breast, were curved; his merry eyes were tightly closed by the black disks of two copper coins; the light had gone out of his still face, and I was frightened by the ugly way he showed his teeth.
Until she came into my life I seemed to have been asleep, and hidden away in obscurity; but when she appeared she woke me and led me to the light of day. Connecting all my impressions by a single thread, she wove them into a pattern of many colors, thus making herself my friend for life, the being nearest my heart, the dearest and best known of all; while her disinterested love for all creation enriched me, and built up the strength needful for a hard life.
I was very well aware that grandfather’s shrewd, sharp green eyes followed me everywhere, and I was afraid of him. I remember how I always wished to hide myself from that fierce glance. It seemed to me that grandfather was malevolent; he spoke to every one mockingly and offensively, and, being provocative, did his best to put every one else out of temper.
“The gentlefolk, of course, are to blame, because they have more intelligence to back them up; but that can’t be said of all of them, but only of a few good ones who have already been proved. As for the others – most of them are as foolish as mice; they will take anything you like to give them. We have plenty of nut shells amongst us, but the kernels are missing; only nut shells, the kernels have been devoured. There’s a lesson for you, man! We ought to have learned it, our wits ought to have been sharpened by now; but we are not keen enough yet.”
"مدتها بعد فهمیدم مردم روسیه بر اثر فقر و تنگدستی، غصه خوردن را وسیله تفریح خود قرار دادهاند و همچنان که کودکان با بازیچههای خود بازی میکنند، آنان نیز با مصیبتهای خود ور میروند و کمتر اتفاق میافتد که از بدبخت بودن شرم داشته باشند. در میان زندگی پر مشقت و یکنواختشان مصیبت هم خود جشنی است...؛"