of space, in which I am
not, and which has nothing to do with me; and the period of time in
which it is my lot to live is so petty beside the eternity in which I
have not been, and shall not be.... And in this atom, this mathematical
point, the blood is circulating, the brain is working and wanting
something.... Isn't it loathsome? Isn't it petty?'

'Allow me to remark that what you're saying applies to men in general.'

'You are right,' Bazarov cut in. 'I was going to say that they now--my
parents, I mean--are absorbed and don't trouble themselves about their
own nothingness; it doesn't sicken them ... while I ... I feel nothing
but weariness and anger.'

'Anger? why anger?'

'Why? How can you ask why? Have you forgotten?'

'I remember everything, but still I don't admit that you have any right
to be angry. You're unlucky, I'll allow, but ...'

'Pooh! then you, Arkady Nikolaevitch, I can see, regard love like all
modern young men; cluck, cluck, cluck you call to the hen, but if the
hen comes near you, you run away. I'm not like that. But that's enough
of that. What can't be helped, it's shameful to talk about.' He turned
over on his side. 'Aha! there goes a valiant ant dragging off a
half-dead fly. Take her, brother, take her! Don't pay attention to her
resistance; it's your privilege as an animal to be free from the
sentiment of pity--make the most of it--not like us conscientious
self-destructive animals!'

'You shouldn't say that, Yevgeny! When have you destroyed yourself?'

Bazarov raised his head. 'That's the only thing I pride myself on. I
haven't crushed myself, so a woman can't crush me. Amen! It's all over!
You shall not hear another word from me about it.'

Both the friends lay for some time in silence.

'Yes,' began Bazarov, 'man's a strange animal. When one gets a side
view from a distance of the dead-alive life our "fathers" lead here,
one thinks, What could be better? You eat and drink, and know you are
acting in the most reasonable, most judicious manner. But if not,
you're devoured by ennui. One wants to have to do with people if only
to abuse them.'

'One ought so to order one's life that every moment in it should be of
significance,' Arkady affirmed reflectively.

'I dare say! What's of significance is sweet, however mistaken; one
could make up one's mind to what's insignificant even. But pettiness,
pettiness, that's what's insufferable.'

'Pettiness doesn't exist for a man so long as