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"When workmen have finished their work they do at least receive their pay, they go to the tavern, and they are taken to the police-station--and there is occupation for a week. But where can man go? Anyway, one can observe a certain awkwardness about him when he has attained such objects. He loves the process of attaining, but does not quite like to have the attained, and that, of course, is very absurd. In fact, man is a comical creature; there seems to be a kind of jest in it all. But yet mathematical certainty is after all, something insufferable. Twice two makes four seems to me simply a piece of insolence. Twice two makes four is a pert coxcomb who stands with arms akimbo barring your path and spitting. I admit that twice two makes four is an excelent thing, but if we are to give everthing its due, twice two makes five is sometimes a very charming thing too."

-Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes From the Underground

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