"I remember that even then my dreams were sad, and although things were no better back then, there's still the feeling that living was somehow easier and more restful, that there wasn't this black thought which clings to me now; there were none of these pangs of conscience, bleak and gloom-laden which give me no peace by day or night. You ask yourself: where are your dreams now? And you shake your head and ask say how swiftly the years fly by! And you ask yourself again: what have you done with the best years, then? Where have you buried the best days of your life? Have you lived or not? Look, you tell yourself, look how cold the world is becoming. The years will pass and after them will come grim loneliness, and old age, quaking on its stick, and after them misery and despair. Your fantasy world will grow pale, your dreams will fade and die, falling away like the yellow leaves from the trees...Ah, Nastenka! Will it not be miserable to be left alone, utterly alone, and have nothing even to regret - nothing, not a single thing...because everything I have lost was nothing, stupid, a round zero, all dreaming and no more!"