‘I’ve had a dream. And in that dream, the sky was horribly dark, but one could distinctly see tattered clouds, and between them fathomless black patches. Suddenly I noticed in one of these patches a star, and began watching it intently. That was because that star had given me an idea: I decided to kill myself that night.
It was as if that great rush of anger had washed me clean, emptied me of hope, and, gazing up at the dark sky spangled with its signs and stars, for the first time, the first, I laid my heart open to the benign indifference of the universe. To feel it so like myself, indeed, so brotherly, made me realize that I'd been happy, and that I was happy still. For all to be accomplished, for me to feel less lonely, all that remained to hope was that on the day of my execution there should be a huge crowd of spectators and that they should greet me with howls of execration. Sorrow compressed my heart, and I felt I would die, and then . . . Well, then I woke up.
But they won't understand that. No, they will not understand. Because I dreamed it. Yes, I dreamed a dream, my dream of the fifth of September. They tease me now, telling me it was only a dream. But does it matter whether it was a dream or reality, if the dream made known to me the truth? If once one has recognized the truth and seen it, you know that it is the truth and that there is no other and there cannot be, whether you are asleep or awake. Let it be a dream, so be it, but that real life of which you make so much I had meant to extinguish by suicide, and my dream, my dream — oh, it revealed to me a different life, renewed, grand and full of power!’

Some late night thoughts are going to live upon.

The Harpies with The Suicides

The Dream of a Ridiculous Man (Barrett Plants Asyd)

The Wood of The Self-Murderers

We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness.

The River of Life

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.

Notes From Underground

The Echoing Green

Death Drive

A Poison Three

The Song of Los

The Angel

...throw roses into the abyss and say: 'here is my thanks to the monster who didn't succeed in swallowing me alive.'

Old Man's Library

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