And there are no secrets.

What I tell you you may tell the world--but I warn you that it will neither interest them nor will they believe it....

There is, you see, no climax to my story.

I have no story, indeed; like an old feldscher in my village who hates our village Pope.

'Why, Georg Georgevitch,' I say, 'do you hate him?
He is a worthy man.' 'Your Honour,' he says, 'there is nothing there; a fat man, but God has the rest of him--I hate him for his emptiness.' I'm in a humour to talk.