They carry burdens, they puff and blow." "They carry our life on their backs," exclaimed Yozhov with irritation.
"They carry it like horses, submissively, stupidly.

And this submissiveness of theirs is our misfortune, our curse!" And Foma, carried away by his own thought, argued: "They carry burdens, they toil all their life long for mere trifles.
And suddenly they say something that wouldn't come into your mind in a century.

Evidently they feel.

Yes, it is interesting to be with them." Staggering, Yozhov walked in silence for a long time, and suddenly he waved his hand in the air and began to declaim in a dull, choking voice, which sounded as though it issued from his stomach: "Life has cruelly deceived me, I have suffered so much pain." "These, dear boy, are my own verses," said he, stopping short and nodding his head mournfully.

"How do they run?
I've forgotten.