Maxim Gorky Quotes

Happiness always looks small while you hold it in your hands, but let it go, and you learn at once how big and precious it is.

Keep reading books, but remember that a book’s only a book, and you should learn to think for yourself.

When everything is easy one quickly gets stupid.

When work is a pleasure, life is a joy. When work is a duty, life is slavery!

Lies are the religion of slaves and masters. Truth is the god of the free man.

What I'd like is to meet a man I could take off my hat to and say: "Thank you for having got born, and the longer you live the better.

You must write for children the same way you write for adults, only better.

The good qualities in our soul are most successfully and forcefully awakened by the power of art. Just as science is the intellect of the world, art is its soul.

Writers build castles in the air, the reader lives inside, and the publisher inns the rent.

Remembrance of the past kills all present energy and deadens all hope for the future

إن الكنائس في المدن الكبيرة مليئة بالفضة والذهب اللذين لا حاجة لله بهما ، في حين يرتجف على ابواب الكنائس عدد لا يحصى من الفقراء ينتظرون بفارغ الصبر هبات نحيلة تُلقى في أيديهم المفتوحة.

لا يكفي أن تعرف, لابد أن تفهم

You will not drown the truth in seas of blood

When the life is monotonous , even grief is a welcome event...

This fear is what is the ruin of us all. And some dominate us; they take advantage of our fear and frighten us still more. Mark this: as long as people are afraid, they will rot like the birches in the marsh. We must grow bold; it is time!

One word of praise from a woman is dearer to me than a whole ode from a man . .

تنمو الحقيقة عندما يروي دم الشرفاء الأرض كالمطر الغزير، أما دم الأعداء فلا يبدع شيئاً، إنه دم عاقر، فاسد يتبخر دون أن يترك أثراً

The poor people are stupid from poverty, and the rich from greed.

The illness of a doctor is always worse than the illnesses of his patients.The patients only feel, but the doctor, as well as feeling, has a pretty good idea of the destructive effect of the disease on his constitution.This is a case in which knowledge brings death nearer.

أنت تسكب روحك في الشئ الذي تفضله.

In the monotony of everyday existence grief comes as a holiday, and a fire is an entertainment. A scratch embellishes an empty face.

Politics is something similar to the lower physiological functions, with the unpleasant difference that political functions are unavoidably carried out in public.

in music one can hear everything.

نحن أبناء تلك الحياة المظلمة نحس كل شيء، لكنه يصعب علينا وضعه في كلمات فنخجل لكوننا نفهم لكن نعجز عن التعبير عما نفهم

تعمى عيون البعض من الجوع ، وتعمى عيون البعض الآخر من الذهب

Our existence has always and everywhere been tragic, but man has converted these numberless tragedies into works of art. I know of nothing more astonishing or more wonderful than this transformation.

But I'm not to be caught with such poor bait! I'm a big fish, I am.

لقد ذقت الهوان حتى لم يعد الهوان يثير حنقي ، أهناك فوق سطلح الأرض امرؤٌ لم يُذَلّ ؟

The pleasure of living carries with it the obligation to die.

ما أعظم الإنسان! ما أشد ما في رنين هذه الكلمة من كبرياء.. الإنسان!لابد أن يكون موضع احترام و ليس موضع شفقة. فالشفقة مهينة

لا سبيل إلي معرفة الناس, أيهم طيب و أيهم شرير, لا سبيل!

Anger is like ice, and also quick to melt

تبدو السعادة دائما صغيرة عندما تمسكها بين يديك..لكنك اذا تركتها أدركت فورا كم كانت كبيرة وغالية..

لا أستطيع ترك الطغاة يعتقدون بموافقتي واستسلامي ، إني لا أستطيع أن اسمح لهم باستعمال ظهري كي يتعلموا جلد الآخرين

لمَ أجوع بينما الخير دافق؟ لمَ أظل بهيماً جاهلاً بينما المعرفة في كل مكان؟ لقد بدأ الشعب يثور شيئاً فشيئاً

إنكم لقلة...انتم الذين تناضلون من اجل الحقيقة.

ربما كنا جميعا شديدي الحرص على مشاعرنا، نخفيها و نعيش بالفكر و نسرف، و هذا ما افسدنا بعض الشيء، إذ إننا نفكر بدلا من ان نحس.

However low he may fall, a man can never deny himself the delight of feeling cleverer, more powerful or even better fed than his companions.

عليك بمزيد من الصبر, علينا جميعا بالصبر, كلٌ علي طريقته

The indifferent pendulum of the clock kept chopping off the seconds of life, calmly and precisely.

And this was the end of my first friendship with one of that innumerable company of people who are foreigners in their own country, but who are in reality its finest sons....

Much later I realized that Russian people, because of the poverty and squalor of their lives, love to amuse themselves with sorrow--to play with it like children, and are seldom ashamed of being unhappy.

لقد افترس الجوع النفوس وصنع مخلوقات ليس لها وجه لإنسان. إنهم لا يعيشون، إنهم يتعفنون في حضن بؤس لا نستطيع أن نتصوره، وتقيم السلطات حولهم نطاقاً من الحراسة اليقظة، تتربص بهم كالغربان لترى ان كنت تملك كسرة خبز زائدة . فاذا رأت تلك الكسرة انتزعتها منك ، ولطمتك ،فوق ذلك ، على فمك

Ever since the days when such formidable mediocrities as Galsworthy, Dreiser, Tagore, Maxim Gorky, Romain Rolland and Thomas Mann were being accepted as geniuses, I have been perplexed and amused by fabricated notions about so-called "great books." That, for instance, Mann's asinine "Death in Venice," or Pasternak's melodramatic, vilely written "Dr. Zhivago," or Faulkner's corn-cobby chronicles can be considered "masterpieces" or at least what journalists term "great books," is to me the sort of absurd delusion as when a hypnotized person makes love to a chair. My greatest masterpieces of twentieth century prose are, in this order: Joyce's "Ulysses"; Kafka's "Transformation"; Bely's "St. Petersburg," and the first half of Proust's fairy tale, "In Search of Lost Time.

If it is true that only misfortune can awaken a man's soul, it is a bitter truth, one that is hard to hear and accept, and it is only natural that many people deny it and say it is better for a man to live on in a trance than to wake up to torture.

إن المرء ليغدو، رغما عنه، ضاريا... في هذه الحياة الضارية

All of us are pilgrims on this earth. I have even heard it said that the earth itself is a pilgrim in the heavens.

The poor are always rich in children, and in the dirt and ditches of this street there are groups of them from morning to night, hungry, naked and dirty. Children are the living flowers of the earth, but these had the appearance of flowers that have faded prematurely, because they grew in ground where there was no healthy nourishment.

But silence is terrible and painful only to those who have said all and have nothing more to speak of; but to those who never had anything to say--to them silence is simple and easy. . . .

In recalling my childhood I like to picture myself as a beehive to which various simple obscure people brought the honey of their knowledge and thoughts on life, generously enriching my character with their own experience. Often this honey was dirty and bitter, but every scrap of knowledge was honey all the same.

we people at the bottom feel everything; but it is hard for us to speak out our hearts. our thoughts float about in us. we are ashamed because, although we understand, we are not able to express them; an often from shame we are angry at our thoughts, and at those who inspire them. we drive them away from ourselves

...the more a human creature has tasted of bitter things the more it hungers after the sweet things of life. And we, wrapped round in rags of our virtues, and regarding others through the mist of our self-sufficiency, and persuaded of our universal impeccability, do not understand this.

I do not care to see men better off – but better!

انت مضطر احيانا كي تحارب نفسك حتى تستمر على السير قدما

We kill everybody, my dear. Some with bullets, some with words, and everybody with our deeds. We drive people into their graves, and neither see it nor feel it.

فكل امرئ قديس، ما دام الشيطان نائمًا

I did not speak," continued Pavel, "about that good and gracious God in whom you believe, but about the God with whom the priests threaten us as with a stick, about the God in whose name they want to force all of us to the evil will of the few.

Like some wondrous birds out of fairy tales, books sang their songs to me and spoke to me as though communing with one languishing in prison; they sang of the variety and richness of life, of man’s audacity in his strivings towards goodness and beauty.

الفقر والجوع والمرض .. هذا ما يربحه الناس من عملهم . كل شيء يقف ضدنا ، ويوما بعد يوم نغرق في العمل طوال حياتنا ، نغرق في الوحل والخديعة ، في حين يتخم الآخروة .. ويتمتعون على حساب شقائنا وبؤسنا، ويسبقوننا كالكلاب في قبضة القيد والجهالة ، لأننا لا نعرف شيئا ، ويسبقوننا في قبضة الرعب لأننا نرهب كل شيء .. ان حياتنا هي الليل ... ولعمري إنه لليل حالك الظلمة

إن ما يدفعهم إلى اضطهاد الناس حتى الموت هو الإحتفاظ بفضتهم وذهبهم وأوراقهم المالية الحقيرة وكل ذلك المتاع البائس الذي يمكنهم به الإحتفاظ بالسلطة على الناس - إنهم لا يدافعون عن حياتهم عندما يقتلون الناس ويشوهون أرواحهم .. ليس في سبيل ذواتهم ، بل في سبيل ممتلكاتهم يفعلون ذلك. إنهم لا يدافعون عما في داخلهم ، بل عما في الخارج منهم

once there was a crow, it flew from the field to the hill, from hedge to hedge, and lived its life. then it died and rotted away. -what's the sense in it? there just ISN'T any!

Трябва да живееш винаги влюбен в нещо, което не можеш да стигнеш. Човек расте на височина от това, че се мъчи да стигне високото.

All parents wash away their sins with their tears; you are not the only one.

ايها الفلاحون. فتشوا عن تلك الأوراق و اقرأوها. لا تصدقوا السلطاتو الكهنة حين يقولون لكم ان اولئك الذين يحملون لنا الحقيقة ليسوا سوى كفرة عصاة، إن الحقيقة تتسرب إلى العالم كله خفية، و تبحث عن اعشاش لها في ضمير الشعب. إنها بالنسبة للسلطات كالسكين، كالنار، إنهم لا يتقبلونها لأنها ستذبحهم و تحرقهم. إن الحقيقة بالنسبة لكم خير صديق، و لكنها بالنسبة لهم عدو اشر...و هي من اجل ذلك تتخفى.

Yes, the rich. And that's their misfortune. You see, if you keep adding copper bit by bit to a child's food, you prevent the growth of its bones, and he'll be a dwarf; and if from his youth up you poison a man with gold, you deaden his soul." Once,

وماذا يعني ذلك ؟ لقد مات .. وما الذي مات ؟ هل مات تقديري لإيجور ؟ هل مات شعوري نحوه ؟ نحو الرفيق ؟ هل ماتت ذكرى صنيع أفكاره ؟ هل مات ذاك الصنيع نفسه ؟ هل انطفأت تلك المشاعر التي أيقظها فيَّ ؟ هل انمحت تلك الصورة التي رسمتها له في ذهني ؟ صورة الانسان الباسل الشريف ؟ هل مات هذا كله ؟ .. كلا إن ذلك ، في نظري ،لا يموت أبدا. أعرف ذلك ، ويبدو لي أننا نتسرع كثيرا حين نقول عن انسان ما ، انه مات . لقد ماتت شفتاه لكن كلماته ما برحت حية ، وستظل إلى الأبد ، حية في قلوبنا

I was consumed by a restless curiosity, a thirst for knowing everything in the shortest possible time. This is a side of my character that has prevented me all my life from devoting myself seriously to any one thing.

عندما ﻳﻜﻮﻥ ﻛﻞ ﺷﻲﺀ ﺳﻬﻼً ﻳﺼﺒﺢ ﺍﻟﻤﺮﺀ ﻏﺒياَ ﺑﺴﺮﻋﺔ

لقد اتضح أنه مهما يكن حرصك علي طلاء الظاهر,فإن الطلاء يزول, كله يزول.

For sadness and gladness live within us side by side, almost inseparable; the one succeeding the other with an elusive, unappreciable swiftness.

I am mistrustful of Russians in power – recently slaves themselves, they will become unbridled despots as soon as they have the chance to be their neighbours' masters.

They destroy lives with work. What for? They rob men of their lives. What for, I ask? My master—I lost my life in the textile mill of Nefidov—my master presented one prima donna with a golden wash basin. Every one of her toilet articles was gold. That basin holds my life-blood, my very life. That's for what my life went! A man killed me with work in order to comfort his mistress with my blood. He bought her a gold wash basin with my blood.

It's fear that's the ruin of us. And those who boss us take advantage of our fear and keep bullying us.

It's not people, but thoughts, and thoughts are not fleas; you can't catch them!

Keep reading books, but remember that a book is only a book, and you should learn to think for yourself.

من الكذب ما يبعث في النفس العزاء، ما يجعل اﻹنسان يقنع بنصيبه في الحياة. الكذب يبحث عن عذر لكسر ذراع العامل. الكذب يلوم الرجل على موته جوعا.

And he's direct, clear, firm, like truth itself.

Keep reading books, but remember that a book is only a book, and you should learn to think for yourself.

God created man in his own image and after his own likeness. Therefore he is like man if man is like him.

Κάθε βιβλίο αποτελεί ένα σκαλοπάτι στη σκάλα για να γίνουμε άνθρωποι

the number of books increased on the shelves neatly made for him by one of his carpenter friends. The room began to look like a home.

مادر به خاطر داشته باش که خدا آدمو مثل خودش آفریده. پس خدا هم به بشر شباهت داره. ولی ما حالا دیگه به خدا شباهت نداریم بلکه شبیه حیوانات وحشی شدیم!.... در کلیسا به جای او مترسکی را به ما نشان میدهند.... بله مادر، باید شکل خدا رو تغییر داد و تطهیرش کرد. به تن خدا جامه هایی از دروغ و بهتان پوشانده اند و صورتش رو مثله کرده اند تا روح ما را بکشند!

Here I've been living along, year after year, forty of them behind me, with a wife and children, and not a soul in the world to talk to. Come moments when I think I just have to pour out my soul to somebody, to say all there is to say, and — no one to say it to! If you tell it to her—the wife, that is — it don't reach her. What's it to her? She's got her children, the house, her cares. She's outside my soul. Your wife's your friend till the first baby comes ... that's how it is. And in general, my wife—well, you can see for yourself—no fun with her—just a lump of flesh, damn it all! Ah, brother, what a heartache!

She read newspapers, but preferred books with stories that she could compare with her own life. She read the books I was reading, first Fallada, Knut Hamsun, Dostoevsky, Maxim Gorky, then Thomas Wolfe and William Faulkner. What she said about books could not have been put into print; she merely told me what had particularly caught her attention. “I’m not like that”, she sometimes said, as though the author had written about her. To her, every book was an account of her own life, and in reading she came to life; for the first time, she came out of her shell; she learned to talk about herself; and with each book she had more ideas on the subject. Little by little, I learned something about her.

Those——"—here he flung out a terrible oath—"those people don't know what their blind hands are sowing. They will know when our power is complete and we begin to mow down their cursed grass. They'll know it then!

يا للفظاعة. حفنة من الاغبياء، يضربون و يخنقون و يسحقون ليحموا سلطانهم المشؤوم على الشعب. ان الوحشية تزداد، و القسوة تغدو شريعة الوجود فتأملي. ان بعضهم يضرب، و ينطلق من قيده كالوحوش مطمئنا إلى فجوره. انهم مصابون بظمأ الى التعذيب شهواني، مصابون بذلك الداء الكريه، داء العبيد الذين يباح لهم أن يظهروا غرائزهم المنحطة، و عاداتهم البهيمية؛ بكل ما فيهم من قوة. اما الاخرون فشهوة الثأر تسممهم، انهم يصبحون، و قد اخبلتهم الضربات، بكما و عميانا، لقد افسد الشعب، الشعب بكامله.

في الضاحية عندما يتكلمون عن الخيريتناولونه بمجموعه ككل، اما هنا فكل شيء يجزأ الى جزئيات صغيرة دقيقة. ان المشاعر هناك أعمق و اقوى، اما هنا فالسيطرة للأفكار التافهة التي تفتت كل شيء. هنا كانوا يتكلمون عن تهديم النظام القديم، في حين كانوا هناك يحلمون بالنظام الجديد.

The doleful, ugly sounds became entangled in his whiskers.

الأم: - علام تعتمد عجوز مثلي في حزنها إذا انتزعتم الله منها؟ا بول: -انك لم تفهمينا يا اماه. ريبين: -سامحيني ايتها الأم، فلقد نسيت انك طعنت في السن لدرجة لا نستطيع معها اجتثاث ثآليلك. بول: -لم اكن اتحدث عن الله الطيب الرحيم الذي تؤمنون به، بل عن الله الذي يهددنا به الكهنة، كما لو كانوا يهددونا بعصا؛ عن إله يراد باسمه ان يخضع العالم كله للإراده القاسية، إراده البعض ريبين: -لقد زيفوا لنا حتى الله و سخروا ضدنا كل ما في ايديهم، أتذكرين ايتها الأم؟ لقد خلق الانسان على شاكلته، على صورته، اذا فهو يشبه الانسان اذا شابهه الانسان، و لكننا لا نشبه الله، بل نشبه الوحوش الضارية. انهم يظهرونه لنا في الكنيسة على شكل فزاعة. لذا ينبغي ان نطور الله ، ايتها الأم، ينبغي ان نطهره، فلقد البسوه ثوبا من الكذب و النميمة و شوهوا وجهه ليقتلوا روحنا

I've thought all my life, 'Lord Christ in heaven! what did I live for?' Beatings, work! I saw nothing except my husband. I knew nothing but fear! And how Pasha grew I did not see, and I hardly know whether I loved him when my husband was alive. All my concerns, all my thoughts were centered upon one thing—to feed my beast, to propitiate the master of my life with enough food, pleasing to his palate, and served on time, so as not to incur his displeasure, so as to escape the terrors of a beating, to get him to spare me but once! But I do not remember that he ever did spare me. He beat me so—not as a wife is beaten, but as one whom you hate and detest.

A man must preserve himself for his work and must be thoroughly acquainted with the road to it. A man, dear, is like the pilot on a ship. In youth, as at high tide, go straight! A way is open to you everywhere. But you must know when it is time to steer. The waters recede — here you see a sandbank, there, a rock; it is necessary to know all this and to slip off in time, in order to reach the harbour safe and sound.

Todos os que têm uma vida difícil, que são esmagados pela miséria, privados de todos os direitos, submetidos aos ricos e lacaios destes, todos, todo o povo deve ir ao encontro dos homens que por ele morrem nas prisões, que são torturados e mortos. Eles apontam a todos, sem fazerem caso dos seus interesses pessoais, o caminho da felicidade, eles não procuram enganar os outros: dizem que é um caminho difícil e não arrastam ninguém à força, mas logo que estivermos com eles, não somos capazes de deixá-los mais, porque vemos que têm razão, que esse caminho é belo e que não há outro.

When they tear a workingman's hand in a machine or kill him, you can understand-- the workingman himself is at fault. But in a case like this, when they suck a man's blood out of him and throw him away like a carcass --that can't be explained in any way. I can comprehend every murder; but torturing for mere sport I can't comprehend. And why do they torture the people? To what purpose do they torture us all? For fun, for mere amusement, so that they can live pleasantly on the earth; so that they can buy everything with the blood of the people, a prima donna, horses, silver knives, golden dishes, expensive toys for their children. YOU work, work, work, work more and more, and I'LL hoard money by your labor and give my mistress a golden wash basin

و ماذا يعني ذلك؟ لقد ماتز و ما الذي مات؟ هل مات تقديري لايغور؟ هل مات شعوري نحوه؟ نحو الرفيق؟ هل ماتت ذكرى صنيع افكاره؟ هل مات هذا الصنيع نفسه؟ هل انطفأت تلك المشاعر التي ايقظها في؟ هل انمحت تلك الصورة التي رسمتها له في ذهني؟ صورة الانسان الباسل الشريف؟ هل مات هذا كله؟... كلا ان ذلك، في نظري، لا يموت ابدا. اعرف ذلك، و يبدو لي اننا نتسرع كثيرا حين نقول عن انسان ما، انه مات. لقد ماتت شفتاه و لكن كلماته ما برحت حية، و ستظل الى الأبد، حية في قلوب الاحياء.

يا إلهي …لقد تأملت حياتي، و تسألت… لماذا عشت؟ عشت للضرب… و العمل… و كنت لا ارى احدا سوى زوجي؛ و لا اعرف شيئا سوى الخوف. و حتى انني لا ادري كيف نشأ بول. هل احببته عندما كان زوجي حيا؟ لا ادري. لقد كان همي كله، و افكاري كلها تدور حول امر واحد هو ان اطعم ذلك الوحش الضاري، ليشعر بالاكتفاء و الشبع، و ان اضع نفسي في خدمته في الوقت المناسب، كيلا يستشيط غضبا، و يشبعني ضربا؛ او على الاقل لكي يوفرني من الضربهذه المرة. و لا اذكر انه فعل ذلك ابدا.، لقد كان يضربني بضراوة، حتى لأحسب انه كان لا يضربني انا بالذات، بل يضرب في كل اولئك الذين يكرههم. و لقد عشت عشرين عاما على هذه الوتيرة، ولا اعرف شيئا مما حدث قبل زواجي، و قد تعاودني الذكرى، و لكنني لا البث ان اصبح كالعمياء، لا ارى شيئا ابدا. لقد كان ايغور ايفا نوفيتش، و هو ابن قريتي، كان هناك، و كان يتحدث عن هذا او ذاك. اما انا فأذكر بيوتا و ناسا…اما كيف كان يعيش هؤلاء الناس، و ماذا كانوا يقولون؟و ماذا حل بهم؟ فذلك ما لا اذكره، و إنما اذكر بعض الحرائق، بل اثنتين منها. لقد افلت مني كل شيء و باتت نفسي مغلقة كمنزل مهجور. إنها عمياء صماء.

كان يخيل إليها أنهم جميعا ينظرون إلى جسد ابنها وأجساد رفاقه . ويتحدثون عن هذه الفتوة وعضلاتها التي تفور بالدم الحار والقوة الحية النابضة . فتضرم فيهم الحسد الكريه .. حسد المتسولين ، وتثير فيهم الشره الشديد ، شره المنهك والمريض ، فتتلمظ شفاهم ويتحسرون على هذه العضلات القادرة على ان تعمل وتثرى وتتمتع وتخلق . اما أجسادهم هم .. اجساد هؤلاء العجائز فإنها تجفو دورة الحياة الفاعلة وتنكرها ، وتفقد امكانية التمتع بقوتها ، وامكانية السيطرة على الحياة والتهامها ، ومن اجل ذلك كانت هذه الفتوة تثير في نفوس العجائز ميلا حقودا إلى الثأر ، كما يميل الوحش الجائع إلى اللحم الطري دون أن تكون لديه القدرة على امتلاكه ..فيزمجر بألم ويعوي بيأس ، ويعز عليه إلا ان يسلب من أمامه من صفاته التي تنقص في ذاته هو .. وبالمثل فقد أيقنت الأم أن هؤلاء العجائز سوف يقضون على ابنها بالنفي ..

Family life always diminishes the energy of a revolutionist. Children must be maintained in security ,and there's the need to work a great deal for one's break. The revolutionist ought without cease to develop every iota of his energy; he must deepen and broaden it; but this demands time. He must always be at the head, because we--the workingmen--are called by the logic of history to destroy the old world, to create the new life; and if we stop, if we yield to exhaustion, or are attracted by the possibility of a little immediate conquest, it's bad--it's almost treachery to the cause. No revolutionist can adhere closely to an individual--walk thorough life side by side with another individual--without distorting his faith; and we must never forget that our aim is not little conquests, but only complete victory!

Here is a Man coming and illuminating life with the light of reason, and he shouts: 'Oh, ho! you straying roaches! It's time, high time, for you to understand that all your interests are one, that everyone has the need to live, everyone has the desire to grow!' The Man who shouts this is alone, and therefore he cries aloud; he needs comrades, he feels dreary in his loneliness, dreary and cold. And at his call the staunch hearts unite into one great, strong heart, deep and sensitive as a silver bell not yet cast. And hark! This bell rings forth the message.. 'Men of all countries, unite into one family! Love is the mother of life, not hate!' My brothers! I hear this message sounding through the world!

Sometimes when I recall the abominations of that barbarous Russian life I question whether they are worth dwelling on. But on further consideration I am convinced that they demand being exposed, for they are the vicious tenacious truth, which has not been exterminated to this very day. They represent a truth which must be exposed to its roots and torn out of our grim and shameful life - torn out of the very soul and memory of man. But there is another, more positive reason impelling me to describe such horrors. In spite of their repulsiveness and they way in which they mutilated what would otherwise be fine natures, the Russian is sufficiently young and wholesome in spirit to abolish such things and he will surely do so. Our life is amazing not only for the vigorous scum of bestiality with which it is overgrown, but also for the bright and wholesome creative forces gleaming beneath. And the influence of good is growing, giving promise that our people will at last awaken to a life full of beauty and bright humanity.

This is the way it ought to be!" said the Little Russian, returning. "Because, mark you, mother dear, a new heart is coming into existence, a new heart is growing up in life. All hearts are smitten in the conflict of interests, all are consumed with a blind greed, eaten up with envy, stricken, wounded, and dripping with filth, falsehood, and cowardice. All people are sick; they are afraid to live; they wander about as in a mist. Everyone feels only his own toothache. But lo, and behold! Here is a Man coming and illuminating life with the light of reason, and he shouts: 'Oh, ho! you straying roaches! It's time, high time, for you to understand that all your interests are one, that everyone has the need to live, everyone has the desire to grow!' The Man who shouts this is alone, and therefore he cries aloud; he needs comrades, he feels dreary in his loneliness, dreary and cold. And at his call the stanch hearts unite into one great, strong heart, deep and sensitive as a silver bell not yet cast. And hark! This bell rings forth the message: 'Men of all countries, unite into one family! Love is the mother of life, not hate!' My brothers! I hear this message sounding through the world!