White Nights and Other Stories | 
For, after all, you do grow up, you do outgrow your ideals, which turn to dust and ashes, which are shattered into fragments;and if you have no other life, you just have to build one up out of these fragments. And all the time your soul is craving and longing for something else. And in vain does the dreamer rummage about in his old dreams, raking them over as though they were a heap of cinders, looking in these cinders for some spark, however tiny
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