confusion at once.  We shall not know what to join on to, what to
cling to, what to love and what to hate, what to respect and what
to despise.  We are oppressed at being men--men with a real
individual body and blood, we are ashamed of it, we think it a
disgrace and try to contrive to be some sort of impossible
generalised man.  We are stillborn, and for generations past have
been begotten, not by living fathers, and that suits us better
and better.  We are developing a taste for it.  Soon we shall
contrive to be born somehow from an idea.  But enough; I don't
want to write more from "Underground"... 

[The notes of this paradoxalist do not end here, however.  He
could not refrain from going on with them, but it seems to us
that we may stop here.] 

End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Notes from the Underground