Fyodor Dostoevsky

Raskolnikov, a destitute and desperate former student, wanders through the slums of St Petersburg and commits a random murder without remorse or regret. He imagines himself to be a great man, a Napoleon; acting for a higher purpose beyond conventional moral law. But as he embarks on a dangerous game of cat and mouse with a suspicious police investigator, Raskolnikov is pursued by the growing voice of his conscience and finds the noose of his own guilt tightening around his neck. Only Sonya, a downtrodden prostitute, can offer the chance of redemption.

Penguin Classics Crime and Punishment

alma

He was so immersed in himself and had isolated himself so much from everyone that he was afraid not only of meeting his landlady but of meeting anyone at all.

He stood and stared into the distance for a long while; he knew this spot particularly well. While attending university it often happened - a hundred times, perhaps, usually on his way home - that he would pause at precisely this spot, look intently at this truly magnificent panorama and every time be almost amazed by the obscure, irresolvable impression it made on him. An inexplicable chill came over him as he gazed at this magnificence; this gorgeous scene was filled for him by some dumb, deaf spirit... He marvelled every time at this sombre, mysterious impression and, distrusting himself put off any attempt to explain it. 

His murders are at once a suicide, his crime is his punishment. 

But I'm talking too much. That's why I never do anything. Or maybe it's because I never do anything that I'm always talking.

While attending university it often happened - a hundred times, perhaps, usually on his way home - that he would pause at precisely this spot, look intently at this obscure, irresolvable impression it made on him. An inexplicable chill came over him as he gazed at this magnificence; this gorgeous scene was filled for him by some dumb, deaf spirit... He marvelled every time at this sombre, mysterious impression and, distrusting himself, put off any attempt to explain it. 

What can I say? I've known Rodion for a year and a half: he's sullen, gloomy, haughty, proud; recently (and perhaps much earlier, too) he's paranoid and hypochondriac. Generous and kind. Doesn't like to express his feelings and would sooner do something cruel than say what's in his heart. Sometimes, though, he's not hypochondriac at all, just cold and unfeeling to an almost inhuman degree, as if two contrasting characters were taking turns inside him. And he can be terribly untalkative! Never has time for anyone, finds everyone a nuisance, yet lounges around doing nothing. Not given to mockery, but not through lack of wit - rather, it's as if his time is too precious to waste on such trifles. Never listens to the end. Never interested in what everyone else is interested in. Terribly conceited and not, perhaps, without cause. What else? ... If you ask me, your arrival will have a very salutary effect on him. 

I'd travelled abroad before and I'd always been miserable. It's all right, I suppose, but you look at the sunrise, the Gulf of Naples, the sea, and you can't help feeling sad. And the most disgusting thing is that you really are sad! No, you're better off in the motherland: here, at least, you can always blame everything on someone else. 

'What do you mean: "the one"? What are you talking about?' cried Raskolnikov. 

'What am I talking about? Well, I honestly don't know...,' muttered Svidrigailov frankly, himself in something of a muddle. 

Penguin Classics Crime and Punishment quotes

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