Music makes me forget myself, my true condition, it carries me off into another state of being, one that isn't my own: under the influence of music I… - Leo Tolstoy

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Music makes me forget myself, my true condition, it carries me off into another state of being, one that isn't my own: under the influence of music I have the illusion of feeling things I don't really feel, of understanding things I don't understand, being able to do things I'm not able to do (...) Can it really be allowable for anyone who feels like it to hypnotize another person, or many other persons, and then do what he likes with them? Particularly if the hypnotist is the first unscrupulous individual who happens to come along?

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About Leo Tolstoy

Lev Nikolayevitch Tolstoy [Ле́в Никола́евич Толсто́й, usually rendered Leo Tolstoy, or sometimes Tolstoi] (9 September 1828 – 20 November 1910) was a Russian writer, philosopher and social activist (social critic), whose novels War and Peace and Anna Karenina are internationally praised classics of world literature. He was a major influence on the development of Christian anarchism and pacifism, contributing to such nonviolent resistance movements as those of Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., and James Bevel.

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Also Known As

Pen Names: Л. Н. Т. Л. Н.
Birth Name: Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy
Native Name: Лев Никола́евич Толсто́й
Alternative Names: Count Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy Tolstoy, Leo, graf, 1828-1910 Tolstoĭ, Lev Nikolaevich, graf, 1828-1910 Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoĭ Leo Tolstoi Tolstoĭ, Lev Nikolaevich, graf Tolstoy, Leo, graf

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Additional quotes by Leo Tolstoy

What is precious is not the reward but the work. And I wish you to understand that. If you work and study in order to get a reward, the work will seem hard to you; but when you work, if you love the work, you will find your reward in that.

All his life Alexey Alexandrovitch had lived and worked in official spheres, having to do with the reflection of life. And every time he had stumbled against life itself he had shrunk away from it. Now he experienced a feeling akin to that of a man who, wile calmly crossing a precipice by a bridge, should suddenly discover that the bridge is broken, and that there is a chasm below. That chasm was life itself, the bridge that artificial life in which Alexey Alexandrovitch had lived.

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