Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 18, 2025
But I must confess I don't believe in Proudhon, and don't consider him a philosopher. The French are not authorities, to my thinking God bless them!" "Well, as for Proudhons and Buckles and the rest of them, I am weak in that department," said Pyotr Dmitritch. "For philosophy you must apply to my wife.
"Look and see whether the list of drawings is there." "Yes, it is," said Ivan Dmitritch; "but hasn't your ticket lapsed?" "No; I took the interest on Tuesday." "What is the number?" "Series 9,499, number 26." "All right... we will look... 9,499 and 26."
It's strange, you know. . . . Judging by every sign, there is no intellectual stagnation in our capital cities; there is a movement so there must be real people there too; but for some reason they always send us such men as I would rather not see. It's an unlucky town!" "Yes, it is an unlucky town," sighed Ivan Dmitritch, and he laughed. "And how are things in general?
"Do you hear, you dull-witted brute?" cried Ivan Dmitritch, and he banged on the door with his fist. "Open the door, or I will break it open! Torturer!" "Open the door," cried Andrey Yefimitch, trembling all over; "I insist!" "Talk away!" Nikita answered through the door, "talk away. . . ." "Anyhow, go and call Yevgeny Fyodoritch! Say that I beg him to come for a minute!"
You must excuse me, I am not a sage or a philosopher," Ivan Dmitritch continued with irritation, "and I don't understand anything about it. I am not capable of reasoning." "On the contrary, your reasoning is excellent."
I've been hating you all day; you see what you've done." Pyotr Dmitritch, too, got up and sat on the bed. "It's loathsome, loathsome, loathsome," Olga Mihalovna went on, beginning to tremble all over. "There's no need to congratulate me; you had better congratulate yourself! It's a shame, a disgrace. You have wrapped yourself in lies till you are ashamed to be alone in the room with your wife!
A bright summer day looked in at the widely open windows; in the garden below the windows, the sparrows and the magpies never ceased chattering for one instant. The drawers were shut now, her husband's bed had been made. There was no sign of the midwife or of the maid, or of Varvara in the room, only Pyotr Dmitritch was standing, as before, motionless by the window looking into the garden.
When he learned that he was to be brought up before the Court, he seemed at once harassed and depressed; he began to sleep badly, stood oftener than ever at the windows, drumming on the panes with his fingers. And he was ashamed to let his wife see that he was worried, and it vexed her. "They say you have been in the province of Poltava?" Lubotchka questioned him. "Yes," answered Pyotr Dmitritch.
Standing near the wall and half closing his eyes, he listened to the singing and thought of his father, of his mother, of the university, of the religions of the world; he felt calm and melancholy, and as he went out of the church afterwards he regretted that the service was so soon over. He went twice to the hospital to talk to Ivan Dmitritch.
Ivan Dmitritch had no faith in lottery luck, and would not, as a rule, have consented to look at the lists of winning numbers, but now, as he had nothing else to do and as the newspaper was before his eyes, he passed his finger downwards along the column of numbers.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking