Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth.
Oh, gentlemen, perhaps I really regard myself as an intelligent man only because throughout my entire life I've never been able to start or finish anything. Granted, granted I'm a babbler, a harmless, irksome babbler, as we all are. But what's to be done if the sole and express purpose of every intelligent man is babble--that is, a deliberate pouring from empty into void.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote reflects on the nature of intelligence and the futility of conversation without purpose.
In this quote, Dostoevsky humorously critiques the human tendency to engage in meaningless chatter, suggesting that true intelligence often leads to a recognition of one's own limitations and the emptiness of dialogue. He expresses a sense of irony in acknowledging that despite labeling oneself as intelligent, his actions revolve around incessant babble that lacks substance, highlighting the idea that many intelligent individuals may feel similarly lost in their communication efforts.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
In a discussion about the nature of discourse, one could reference this quote to illustrate the tendency toward meaningless conversation.
More from Fyodor Dostoevsky
All quotes βWhat if, when this fog scatters and flies upward, the whole rotten, slimey city goes with it, rises with the fog and vanishes like smoke.
Love the animals: God has given them the rudiments of thought and joy untroubled.
Love the animals, love the plants, love everything. If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things. Once you perceive it, you will begin to comprehend it better every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an all-embracing love.
But do you understand, I cry to him, do you understand that if you have the guillotine in the forefront, and with such glee, it's for the sole reason that cutting heads off is the easiest thing, and having an idea is difficult!
...to return to their 'native soil,' as they say, to the bosom, so to speak, of their mother earth, like frightened children, yearning to fall asleep on the withered bosom of their decrepit mother, and to sleep there for ever, only to escape the horrors that terrify them.
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