Every writer hopes or boldly assumes that his life is in some sense exemplary, that the particular will turn out to be universal.
Writing a book I have found to be like building a house. A man forms a plan, and collects materials. He thinks he has enough to raise a large and stately edifice; but after he has arranged, compacted and polished, his work turns out to be a very small performance. The authour however like the builder, knows how much labour his work has cost him; and therefore estimates it at a higher rate than other people think it deserves.
Indeed, people speak sometimes about the “animal” cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to animals, no animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel.
|—||Fyodor Dostoevsky ( The Brothers Karamazov )|