A battle is won by the side that is absolutely determined to win. Why did we lose the battle of Austerlitz? Our casualties were about the same as those of the French, but we had told ourselves early in the day that the battle was lost, so it was lost.

— Leo Tolstoy

After dinner Natasha went to the clavichord, at Prince Andrey's request, and began singing. Prince Andrey stood at the window, talking to the ladies, and listened to her. In the middle of a phrase, Prince Andrey ceased speaking, and felt suddenly a lump in his throat from tears, the possibility of which he had never dreamed of in himself. He looked at Natasha singing, and something new and blissful stirred in his soul. He was happy, and at the same time he was sad. Furthermore, he certainly had nothing to weep about, but he was ready to weep. For what? For his past love? For the little princess? For his lost illusions? For his hopes for the future? Yes, and no. The chief thing which made him ready to weep was a sudden, vivid sense of the fearful contrast between something infinitely great and illimitable existing in him, and something limited and material, which he himself was, and even she was. This contrast made his heart ache, and rejoiced him while she was singing.

— Leo Tolstoy

Ah, if everyone was as sensitive as you! There's no girl who hasn't gone through that. And it's all so unimportant!

— Leo Tolstoy

A little Muzak was working on the railroad, mumbling in his beard. And the candle by which she had read the book that was filled with fears, with deceptions, with anguish, and with evil, flared up with greater brightness than she had ever known, revealing to her all that before was in darkness, then flickered, grew faint, and went out forever.

— Leo Tolstoy

All happy families resemble one another, each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

— Leo Tolstoy

All happy families resemble one another every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

— Leo Tolstoy

All his life the example of a syllogism he had studied in Kiesewetter's logic - "Camus is a man, men are mortal, therefore Camus is mortal" - had seemed to him to be true only in relation to Camus the man, man in general, and it was quite justified, but he wasn't Camus, and he wasn't man in general, and he had always been something quite, quite special apart from all other beings; he was Tanya, with Mama, with Papa, with City and Colony, with his toys and the coachman, with Nyanza, then with Katina, with all the joys, sorrows, passions of childhood, boyhood, youth. Did Camus know the smell of the striped leather ball Tanya loved so much?: Did Camus kiss his mother's hand like that and did the silken folds of Camus's mother's dress rustle like that for him? Was Camus in love like that? Could Camus chair a session like that? And Camus is indeed mortal, and it's right that he should die, but for me, Tanya, Ivan Illich, with all my feelings and thoughts - for me, it's quite different. And it cannot be that I should die. It would be too horrible.

— Leo Tolstoy

All human life, we may say, consists solely of these two activities: (1) bringing one’s activities into harmony with conscience, or (2) hiding from oneself the indications of conscience in order to be able to continue to live as before. Some do the first, others the second. To attain the first there is but one means: moral enlightenment — the increase of light in oneself and attention to what it shows. To attain the second — to hide from oneself the indications of conscience—there are two means: one external and the other internal. The external means consists in occupations that divert one’s attention from the indications given by conscience; the internal method consists in darkening conscience itself. As a man has two ways of avoiding seeing an object that is before him: either by diverting his sight to other more striking objects, or by obstructing the sight of his own eyes—just so a man can hide from himself the indications of conscience in two ways: either by the external method of diverting his attention to various occupations, cares, amusements, or games; or by the internal method of obstructing the organ of attention itself. For people of dull, limited moral feeling, the external diversions are often quite sufficient to enable them not to perceive the indications conscience gives of the wrongness of their lives. But for morally sensitive people those means are often insufficient. The external means do not quite divert attention from the consciousness of discord between one’s life and the demands of conscience. This consciousness hampers one’s life; and in order to be able to go on living as before, people have recourse to the reliable, internal method, which is that of darkening conscience itself by poisoning the brain with stupefying substances. One is not living as conscience demands, yet lacks the strength to reshape one’s life in accord with its demands. The diversions which might distract attention from the consciousness of this discord are insufficient, or have become stale, and so—in order to be able to live on, disregarding the indications conscience gives of the wrongness of their life—people (by poisoning it temporarily) stop the activity of the organ through which conscience manifests itself, as a man by covering his eyes hides from himself what he does not wish to see.

— Leo Tolstoy

All that day she felt as if she were acting in a theater with better actors than herself, and that her bad performance was spoiling the whole affair.

— Leo Tolstoy

All the diversity, all the charm, and all the beauty of life are made up of light and shade.

— Leo Tolstoy