When I am upstairs in my little garret I have only to remember and imagine the rustle of your dress, and I am ready to bite off my hands.
Fyodor DostoevskyAbout author
- Author's profession: Novelist, Writer
- Nationality: russian
- Born: November 11, 1821
- Died: February 9, 1881
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To set out for rehearsals in that quivering quarter-hour is to engage conclusions, not beginnings, for one walks past the guilded hallucinations of poverty with a corrupt resignation touched by details, as if the destitute, in their orange-tinted back yards, under their dusty trees, or climbing into their favelas, were all natural scene designers and poverty were not a condition but an art. Deprivation is made lyrical, and twilight, with the patience of alchemy, almost transmutes despair...
Derek Walcott