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Fyodor Dostoevsky
Come, forgive me — forgive me!” Ganya urged impatiently. “I am ready to kiss your hand, if you like.” Myshkin was greatly impressed and put both his arms round Ganya without speaking. They kissed each other with sincere feeling. “I had no idea — no idea you were like this,” said Myshkin at last, drawing a deep breath. “I thought you were … incapable of it.” “Owning my fault? … And what made me think this morning you were an idiot! You notice what other people never see. One could talk to you, but … better not talk at all.
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