'Everything,' he says, 'is done by machinery, and thus are men spoiled."' "He is out of his wits!" Mayakin waved his hand disdainfully.

"I am surprised, what an appetite you have for all sorts of nonsense! What does it come from ?" "Isn't that true, either ?" asked Foma, breaking into stern laughter.
"What true thing can he know?
A machine! The old blockhead should have thought--'what is the machine made of ?' Of iron! Consequently, it need not be pitied; it is wound up--and it forges roubles for you.

Without any words, without trouble, you set it into motion and it revolves.
While a man, he is uneasy and wretched; he is often very wretched.

He wails, grieves, weeps, begs.

Sometimes he gets drunk.