. . Some people never do any work at
all, all their lives long--yet they live better than the toilers.
Why is that? And what justification have I? And how will all the
people who give their orders justify themselves? What have they
lived for? But my idea is that everybody ought, without fail, to
know solidly what he is living for. Is it possible that a man is
born to toil, accumulate money, build a house, beget children, and--
die? No; life means something in itself. . . . A man has been born,
has lived, has died--why? All of us must consider why we are living,
by God, we must! There is no sense in our life--there is no sense at
all. Some are rich--they have money enough for a thousand men all to
themselves--and they live without occupation; others bow their backs
in toil all their life, and they haven't a penny."
But Foma can only be destructive. He is not constructive. The dim
groping spirit of his mother and the curse of his environment press
too heavily upon him, and he is crushed to debauchery and madness.
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