Anna Karenina

Some people say Anna Karenina is the single greatest novel ever written, which makes about as much sense to me as trying to determine the world’s greatest color. But there is no doubt that Anna Karenina, generally considered Tolstoy’s best book, is definitely one ripping great read. Anna, miserable in her loveless marriage, does the barely thinkable and succumbs to her desires for the dashing Vronsky. I don’t want to give away the ending, but I will say that 19th-century Russia doesn’t take well to that sort of thing.
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"That's not what I mean," said he. "I mean that I'm acting for my own advantage. It's all the better for me if the peasants do their work better."
Two days after the quarrel, Prince Stepan Arkadyevich Oblonsky- Stiva, as he was called in the fashionable world- woke up at his usual hour, that is, at eight o'clock in the morning, not in his wife's bedroom, but on the leather-covered sofa in his study. He turned over his stout, well-cared-for person on the springy sofa, as though he would sink into a long sleep again; he vigorously embraced the pillow on its other side and buried his face in it; but all at once he jumped up, sat up on the sofa, and opened his eyes.
Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
There was a great deal more that was delightful, only there's no putting it into words, or even expressing it in one's waking thoughts."
was full when Alexei Alexandrovich entered it. Three ladies- an old lady, a young lady, and a merchant's wife, and three gentlemen- one
gle of stars he knew so well, and the
plowing and the clover.
leave me in peace
After dinner, when Dolly withdrew to her own room, Anna rose quickly and went up to her brother, who was just lighting a cigar.
understand, like a happiness which is not of this earth; but I've struggled with myself, and I see there's no living without it. And it must be settled."
Catching sight of Kitty going away, and her mother meeting her at the steps, Levin, flushed from his rapid exercise, stood still and pondered a minute. He
Anna and Vronsky had long been exchanging glances, regretting their friend's flow of cleverness. At last Vronsky, without waiting for the artist, walked away to another small picture.
Olyahas quoted4 years ago
limited in her ideas,

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