"Where was it,"  Raskolinikov thought. "where was it that I read of how a condemned man, just before he died, said, or thought, that if he had to live on some crag, on a lodge so small that there was no more than room for his two feet, with all about him the abyss, the ocean, eternal night, eternal solitude, eternal storm, and there he must remain, on a hand's-breadth of ground, all his life, a thousand years, through all eternity-it would be better to live so, than die within the hour?"