is he to do who is not satisfied with life as it is?'"

The girl leaned her whole body toward her brother, and her eyes, with
strained expectation, stopped on the calm face of her brother. He
glanced at her in a weary way, moved about in his seat, and, lowering
his head, said calmly and impressively:

"We must consider from what source springs that dissatisfaction with
life. It seems to me that, first of all, it comes from the inability
to work; from the lack of respect for work. And, secondly, from a wrong
conception of one's own powers. The misfortune of most of the people
is that they consider themselves capable of doing more than they really
can. And yet only little is required of man: he must select for himself
an occupation to suit his powers and must master it as well as possible,
as attentively as possible. You must love what you are doing, and then
labour, be it ever so rough, rises to the height of creativeness. A
chair, made with love, will always be a good, beautiful and solid chair.
And so it is with everything. Read Smiles. Haven't you read him? It is
a very sensible book. It is a sound book. Read Lubbock. In general,
remember that the English people constitute the nation most qualified
for labour, which fact explains their astonishing success in the domain
of industry and commerce. With them labour is almost a cult. The height
of culture stands always directly dependent upon the love of labour. And
the higher the culture the more satisfied are the requirements of man,
the fewer the obstacles on the road toward the further development
of man's requirements. Happiness is possible--it is the complete
satisfaction of requirements. There it is. And, as you see, man's
happiness is dependent upon his relation toward his work."

Taras Mayakin spoke slowly and laboriously, as though it were unpleasant
and tedious for him to speak. And Lubov, with knitted brow, leaning
toward him, listened to his words with eager attention in her eyes,
ready to accept everything and imbibe it into her soul.

"Well, and suppose everything is repulsive to a man?" asked Foma,
suddenly, in a deep voice, casting a glance at Taras's face.

"But what, in particular, is repulsive to the man?" asked Mayakin,
calmly, without looking at Foma.

Foma bent his head, leaned his arms against the table and thus, like a
bull, went on to explain himself:

"Nothing pleases him--business, work, all people and deeds. Suppose I
see that all is d