Dostoevsky’s frenzied prose, his hyperactive personalities, the many preposterous twists of fate, reversals of fortune and melodramatic denouements assail the reader and protagonists alike, casting a bond forged through shared disillusionment.
There was a moment I last crossed your mind...
To admit that even our cherished decisions amount to no more than accidental permutations of an unpredictable universe would crush us. We believe in destiny because we cannot tolerate the idea of fate.
Pedantry might yet save us from the erosion of language and logic abetting partisan distortions and sophistry.
The wonder and terror of beauty and love—and the irrationality of human conduct—cannot survive translation into the desiccated verities of neurochemistry and brain science.
What is beauty, and why does it captivate us? What does our susceptibility to its charm tell us about ourselves and the world we inhabit?
Despite what women may say concerning their desire to find a mate who challenges them intellectually or who creates artistically or who pursues his passions or aspires to virtue, I have only observed them to truly relish one particular quality.
What is the philosophical significance of absurdity, and how ought we respond?
Scruton has done invaluable work showing us the form conservative efforts have taken in defending culture’s role in establishing virtuous, free societies but has for the most part left the political persuasion's specific content open for discussion.
Neither side of the political spectrum any longer appears open to the possibility that their party or its representatives are capable of wrongdoing; partisanship has apparently relieved many of the burden to exercise prudence in instances where political expediency urges absolute devotion.