“There are moments when people love crime,” said Alyosha thoughtfully.
“Yes, yes! You have uttered my thought; they love crime, everyone loves crime, they love it always, not at some ‘moments.’ You know, it’s as though people have made an agreement to lie about it and have lied about it ever since. They all declare that they hate evil, but secretly they all love it.”
“And are you still reading nasty books?”
“Yes, I am. Mamma reads them and hides them under her pillow and I steal them.”
“Aren’t you ashamed to destroy yourself?”
“I want to destroy myself. There’s a boy here, who lay down between the railway lines when the train was passing. Lucky fellow! Listen, your brother is being tried now for murdering his father and everyone loves his having killed his father.”
“Loves his having killed his father?”
“Yes, loves it; everyone loves it! Everybody says it’s so awful, but secretly they simply love it. I for one love it.”
“There is some truth in what you say about