Morning or night, Friday or Sunday, made no difference, everything was the same: the gnawing, excruciating, incessant pain; that awareness of life irrevocably passing but not yet gone; that dreadful, loathsome death, the only reality, relentlessly closing in on him; and that same endless lie. What did days, weeks, or hours matter?
Leo TolstoyAbout author
- Author's profession: Novelist
- Nationality: russian
- Born: September 9, 1828
- Died: November 20, 1910
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