Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth.
How does it come about that what an intelligent man expresses is much stupider than what remains inside him?
Interpretation
What this quote means
Intelligent thoughts can often be misunderstood or miscommunicated, leading to expressions that seem less intelligent than the original ideas.
This quote by Fyodor Dostoevsky reflects on the complex nature of communication and the challenge of articulating profound thoughts. It suggests that even the most intelligent individuals may struggle to convey their inner thoughts accurately, resulting in a disconnect between their internal intelligence and external expression. Essentially, the richness of oneβs intelligence can sometimes be overshadowed by the limitations of language and communication.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
This quote can be used in a discussion about the nature of creativity and the challenges of sharing ideas.
More from Fyodor Dostoevsky
All quotes βWhat if, when this fog scatters and flies upward, the whole rotten, slimey city goes with it, rises with the fog and vanishes like smoke.
Love the animals: God has given them the rudiments of thought and joy untroubled.
Love the animals, love the plants, love everything. If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things. Once you perceive it, you will begin to comprehend it better every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an all-embracing love.
But do you understand, I cry to him, do you understand that if you have the guillotine in the forefront, and with such glee, it's for the sole reason that cutting heads off is the easiest thing, and having an idea is difficult!
...to return to their 'native soil,' as they say, to the bosom, so to speak, of their mother earth, like frightened children, yearning to fall asleep on the withered bosom of their decrepit mother, and to sleep there for ever, only to escape the horrors that terrify them.
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Truth is, I think, if God just gave us our daily bread, many of us would be angry. 'That's all you're going to give me? You're just going to give me enough to sustain me for today? What about tomorrow or next year or 10, 20, 30 years from now? I want to know that I'm set up.' And yet Jesus says just pray for your daily provisions.
I was raised a Christian and was a stone-faced acid head.
God does not know whether a skin is black or white, He sees only souls.
exile is strangely compelling to think about but terrible to experience. It is the unhealable rift forced between a human being and a native place, between the self and its true home: its essential sadness can never be surmounted. And while it is true that literature and history contain heroic, romantic, glorious, even triumphant episodes in an exileβs life, these are no more than efforts meant to overcome the crippling sorrow of estrangement.
We bring about a world in consciousness that is partly what is given, and partly what we bring, something that comes into being through this particular conjunction and no other. And the key to this is the kind of attention we pay to the world.
Here I and sorrows sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.