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Pagina 509 de 2288

Autor: Leo Tolstoy

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Yes, it was the same thing over and over again. Everyone, his
mother, his brother, everyone thought fit to interfere in the
affairs of his heart. This interference aroused in him a feeling
of angry hatred-a feeling he had rarely known before. "What
business is it of theirs? Why does everybody feel called upon to
concern himself about me? And why do they worry me so? Just
because they see that this is something they can't understand. If
it were a common, vulgar, worldly intrigue, they would have left
me alone. They feel that this is something different, that this
is not a mere pastime, that this woman is dearer to me than life.
And this is incomprehensible, and that's why it annoys them.
Whatever our destiny is or may be, we have made it ourselves, and
we do not complain of it," he said, in the word we linking
himself with Anna. "No, they must needs teach us how to live.

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