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Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them.

Leo Tolstoy

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Leo Tolstoy
Age: 82 †
Born: 1828
Born: January 1
Died: 1910
Died: January 1
Diarist
Esperantist
Essayist
Novelist
Opinion Journalist
Pedagogue
Philosopher
Playwright
Prosaist
Writer
Tolstoi
Tolstoy
Lev Nikolaevich
graf Tolstoĭ
Lev Nikolayevich
Count Tolstoy
Count Lev Tolstoy
Leo
graf Tolstoy
Lev
Count Tolstoy
Lev
graf Tolsztoj
Лев Николаевич
c граф Толстой
Lew
graf Tolstoi
Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy
Lev Tolstoy
Count Leo Tolstoy
Capable
Grieving
Suffering
Strongly
Also
Necessity
Counteract
Great
Heal
Bereavement
People
Suffer
Heals
Loving
Mourning
Grief
Mourn
Sorrow
Serves

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From the self-confidence with which he spoke no one could tell whether what he said was very clever or very stupid.
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War is not courtesy but the most horrible thing in life and we ought to understand that, and not play at war. We ought to accept this terrible necessity sternly and seriously. It all lies in that: get rid of falsehood and let war be war and not a game.
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Men pray to the Almighty to relieve poverty. But poverty comes not from God's laws-it is blasphemy of the worst kind to say that. Poverty comes from man's injustice to his fellow man.
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And the cause of everything is that which we call God.
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A person who has spoiled his stomach will criticize his meal saying that the food is bad the same thing happens with people who are not satisfied with their lives
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If, then, I were asked for the most important advice I could give, that which I considered to be the most useful to the men of our century, I should simply say: in the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work, look around you.
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Not one word, not one gesture of yours shall I, could I, ever forget.
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Morning or night, Friday or Sunday, made no difference, everything was the same: the gnawing, excruciating, incessant pain that awareness of life irrevocably passing but not yet gone that dreadful, loathsome death, the only reality, relentlessly closing in on him and that same endless lie. What did days, weeks, or hours matter?
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All happy families resemble one another, each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
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Art is not a pleasure, a solace, or an amusement art is great matter.
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Violence produces only something resembling justice, but it distances people from the possibility of living justly, without violence.
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I believe that the reason of life is for each of us simply to grow in love.
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The whole trouble lies in that people think that there are conditions excluding the necessity of love in their intercourse with man, but such conditions do not exist. Things may be treated without love one may chop wood, make bricks, forge iron without love, but one can no more deal with people without love than one can handle bees without care.
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To love life is to love God. Harder and more blessed than all else is to love this life in one's sufferings, in undeserved sufferings.
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Nowhere nor in anything, except in the assertion of the Church, can we find that God or Christ founded anything like what churchmen understand by the Church.
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He could not be mistaken. There were no other eyes like those in the world. There was only one creature in the world who could concentrate for him all the brightness and meaning of life. It was she. It was Kitty.
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We spend our lives trying to unlock the mystery of the universe, but there was a Turkish prisoner, Bahá’u’lláh, in Akka, Palestine who had the Key.
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The life of our class, of the wealthy and the learned, was not only repulsive to me but had lost all meaning. The sum of our action and thinking, of our science and art, all of it struck me as the overindulgences of a spoiled child.
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We are all created to be miserable, and that we all know it, and all invent means of deceiving each other. And when one sees the truth, what is one to do?
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The greater the state, the more wrong and cruel its patriotism, and the greater is the sum of suffering upon which its power is founded.
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