Dreams came to me with a particular sweetness and intensity after a little debauch, they came with repentance and tears, with curses and raptures. There were moments of such positive ecstasy, such happiness, that not even the slightest mockery could be felt in me, by God. There was faith, hope, love.
This was the point, that I blindly believed then that through some miracle, some external circumstance, all this would suddenly extend, expand; suddenly a horizon of appropriate activity would present itself, beneficient, beautiful, and above all, quite ready-made (precisely what, I never knew, but above all -quite ready made,) and thus I would suddenly step forth under God's heaven all but on a whine horse and wreathed in laurels.
-Notes from Underground
Fyodor Dostoevsky
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