I was also afraid to the point of illness of being ridiculous, and therefore slavishly worshipped routine in everything to do with externals; I loved falling into the common rut, and feared any eccentricity in myself with all my soul. But how could I hold out? I was morbidly developed, as a man of our time ought to be developed. And they were all dull-witted and as like one another as a flock of sheep.
( Fyodor Dostoyevsky )
[ Notes from Underground ]
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