123,476 books
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261,466 voters
Ahmad
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![Loading... Loading...](https://s.gr-assets.com/assets/loading_big-5baaead7062b26142a19d19a9bccf5c2.gif)
![Fyodor Dostoevsky](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1629693671i/3137322._UX200_CR0,25,200,200_.jpg)
“But how could you live and have no story to tell?”
― White Nights
― White Nights
![Fyodor Dostoevsky](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1629693671i/3137322._UX200_CR0,25,200,200_.jpg)
“Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most.”
― Crime and Punishment
― Crime and Punishment
![Fyodor Dostoevsky](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1629693671i/3137322._UX200_CR0,25,200,200_.jpg)
“I love mankind, he said, "but I find to my amazement that the more I love mankind as a whole, the less I love man in particular.”
― The Brothers Karamazov
― The Brothers Karamazov
![Emil M. Cioran](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1651442866i/68189._UX200_CR0,27,200,200_.jpg)
“I don’t understand why we must do things in this world, why we must have friends and aspirations, hopes and dreams. Wouldn’t it be better to retreat to a faraway corner of the world, where all its noise and complications would be heard no more? Then we could renounce culture and ambitions; we would lose everything and gain nothing; for what is there to be gained from this world?”
― On the Heights of Despair
― On the Heights of Despair
![William Shakespeare](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1654446514i/947._UY200_CR0,0,200,200_.jpg)
“To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd!”
― Hamlet
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd!”
― Hamlet
Ahmad’s 2023 Year in Books
Take a look at Ahmad’s Year in Books. The good, the bad, the long, the short—it’s all here.
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