| Chapter 1: | Life |
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Chapter 1
Life
On 20th September he died, literally in my arms. Nothing in life has made such an impression on me. He was telling the truth when he said that there is nothing worse than death. And if you really think that death is after all the end of everything, then there is nothing worse than life either. What's the point of struggling and trying, if nothing remains of what used to be Nikolai Tolstoy? …A few minutes before he died, he dozed off, then suddenly came to and whispered with horror: “What does it all mean?” He had seen it—this absorption of the self in nothingness. And if he found nothing to cling to, what shall I find? Even less.
…What's the point of everything, when tomorrow the torments of death will begin, with all the abomination of meanness, lies, and self-deceit, and end in nothingness, in the annihilation of the self. An amusing trick!
…Praise be to Allah, to God, to Brahma. What a benefactor!
—Tolstoy, 1860 *