I want now to tell you, gentlemen, whether you care to hear
it or not, why I could not even become an insect. I tell you
solemnly, that I have many times tried to become an insect.
But I was not equal even to that. I swear, gentlemen, that to
be too conscious is an illness—a real thorough-going illness.
For man’s everyday needs, it would have been quite enough
to have the ordinary human consciousness, that is, half or a
quarter of the amount which falls to the lot of a cultivated
man of our unhappy nineteenth century, especially one who
has the fatal ill-luck to inhabit Petersburg, the most theoretical
and intentional town on the whole terrestrial globe.
(There are intentional and unintentional towns.) It would
have been quite enough, for instance, to have the consciousness
by which all so-called direct persons and men of action
live. I bet you think I am writing all this from affectation, to
be witty at the expense of men of action; and what is more,
that from ill-bred affectation, I am clanking a sword like my
officer. But, gentlemen, whoever can pride himself on his
diseases and even swagger over them?
a new wallpaper for a new resolution.
let’s hope something good comes out from it. ^^