In every bit of honest writing in the world… there is a base theme. Try to understand men, if you understand each other you will be kind to each other. Knowing a man well never leads to hate and nearly always leads to love.
We have a choice about how we take what happens to us in our life and whether or not we allow it to turn us. We can become consumed by hate and darkness, or we’re able to regain our humanity somehow, or come to terms with things and learn something about ourselves.
The world perishes not because of murderers and thieves, but from hidden hatred, from hostility among good people, from all those petty squabbles.[Должны понимать, что мир погибает не от разбойников и не от воров, а от скрытой ненависти, от вражды между хорошими людьми, от всех этих мелких дрязг, которых не видят люди, называющие наш дом гнездом интеллигенции.]
My whole work drive has been aimed at making people understand each other and then I deliberately write this book, the aim of which is to cause hatred through partial understanding. My father would have called it a smart-alec book. It was full of tricks to make people ridiculous. If I can’t do better I have slipped badly. And that I won’t admit — yet.