There is a reason nobody ever quotes Tolstoy.
Years ago, I decided to read War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy--one of the largest novels ever written, and widely considered a classic, by those professors with no taste or good judgement, who presumably buy all the books in their office bookshelves as a teacher's kit or something. This was back before I realized that it's a really good idea to get some familiarity with an author and his work before investing a lot of time. It was a learning lesson, and ever since, when I get ready to embark on reading a book or studying all an author's work, I consult others, I read cliffnotes, I read wiki and encyclopedia articles, and get a better sense of what I'm in for, so I can know my time is not wasted. Leo Tolstoy is the reason why--arguably the single most boring sonofabitch who ever lived--I got about a third of the way through the book before I threw it away for fear I'd hang myself.
I would compare him to Plato, for his lack of brevity, but Plato accomplished a lot, and I can't think of a single person in history who explored the nature of justice so thoroughly, among other things. It's laborious reading for sure, but there are rewards. Tolstoy, on the other hand, told a boring story--a really, really, REALLY long boring story, and left out the single most important feature of writing--with novels about people's lives, you have to make your reader care about the characters involved. Once the readers care, you can do anything you want with them, as long as it's reasonably interesting, and the reader may or may not think it's good writing, but at least it will hold interest enough to finish the story, and it will be memorable. Readers can be interested for all sorts of reasons, but they do have to be interested. I kept reading after the story bored me, thinking if I stuck to it long enough, it would get better. War and Peace is like watching flies fuck, and it tattooed my brain with the mantra "Oh my fucking god!--who gives a shit? Make a point before I have another birthday, you boring sonofabitch!"--which I repeated in my head so many goddam times, I may have literally injured myself with an abstract repetitive motion injury.
Anyway, I happened to accidentally run into Leo Tolstoy at a coffee shop in Seattle after that, and when he asked me what I thought of his book, I yelled, "YOU SONOFABITCH!" then kicked him square in the dick as hard as I could, turned him upside down, and violently shook him until all the hours of my life that he wasted fell out, then shoved them right up his ass, pinned him down, and carved the name "Leo Fucktoy" across his forehead.
Unfortunately, it turned out he was just a heavily bearded man who lied when I asked if he was Leo Tolstoy, so the police had some legitimate questions. I stand by it though. Tolstoy is a total asshole, and the guy should have known better than to 'fess up when asked. That's not an identity you want to falsify. If someone asked if he was Hitler, would he complain about a beating if he said yes? Fuck Tolstoy and everyone who looks like him--including the dick in the coffee shop.
I do not recommend Tolstoy.