Talking nonsense is man’s only privilege that distinguishes him from all other organisms.
Fyodor Dostoevsky, ‘Crime and Punishment’.
it’s strange reading dostoevsky again; he seems to work so hard to eke out words, like samuel beckett in reverse. the nonsense and the hysteria, the fudging and flights of ecstatic fear. before when i read him i took it all as a matter of faith, perplexed but enjoying the peculiar wit, the philosophy and the mysterious poetry at work. now it seems the demon throwing up words is punishing the reader, and in a quest for sense