# Fyodor Dostoevsky on Identity

> My Sonya is dead; we buried her the day before

— Fyodor Dostoevsky


My Sonya is dead … She was ill only a week; she died of inflammation of the lungs. … That poor little darling creature, scarcely three months old, was already an individual and a person for me. … And now people say to comfort me that I shall have other children. But where is Sonya? Where is the little creature for whom I would, believe me, gladly have suffered death upon the cross, if she could have remained alive?

**Tags:** identity, resurrection, love, sacrifice, christianity