There is something there about dreams, about sacred and pure longings, which are smothered within my breast by the vapour of life.

Oh!" "The buried dreams within my breast Will never rise again." "Brother! You are happier than I, because you are stupid.

While I--" "Don't be rude!" said Foma, irritated.

"You would better listen how they are singing." "I don't want to listen to other people's songs," said Yozhov, with a shake of the head.

"I have my own, it is the song of a soul rent in pieces by life." And he began to wail in a wild voice: "The buried dreams within my breast Will never rise again...