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plpietra 's review for:
The Dream of a Ridiculous Man
by Fyodor Dostoevsky
Can you believe that that was why I shouted? I'm almost certain of it. It seemed obvious to me that my life and, with it, the whole world were at the mercy of my whim. I could even put it this way: it looked as if the world had been made especially for me alone; if I shot myself, the world would stop existing, at least for me.