I understand, I understand, Varvara Petrovna.

It's rather as it is in religion; the harder life is for a man or the more crushed and poor the people are, the more obstinately they dream of compensation in heaven; and if a hundred thousand priests are at work at it too, inflaming their delusion, and speculating on it, then...

I understand you, Varvara Petrovna, I assure you." "That's not quite it; but tell me, ought Nicolas to have laughed at her and have treated her as the other clerks, in order to extinguish the delusion in this unhappy organism." (Why Varvara Petrovna used the word organism I couldn't understand.) "Can you really refuse to recognise the lofty compassion, the noble tremor of the whole organism with which Nicolas answered Kirillov: 'I do not laugh at her.' A noble, sacred answer!" "Sublime," muttered Stepan Trofimovitch.
"And observe, too, that he is by no means so rich as you suppose.

The money is mine and not his, and he would take next to nothing from me then." "I understand, I understand all that, Varvara Petrovna," said Pyotr Stepanovitch, with a movement of some impatience.
"Oh, it's my character! I recognise myself in Nicolas.

I recognise that youthfulness, that liability to violent, tempestuous impulses.