I have made the round of my acquaintances, entered some two hundred doors with my letters of recommendation, but no one seems to have any use for “an honest, conscientious worker.” Many are not slow to give advice. One man advised me, from the height of his patriotic self-satisfaction, to get some war work, and to “mobilise industry” with the millionaire Riabushinsky, those of a more practical turn of mind told me to worm myself in, and to suck the war as a newborn babe its mother’s breast, and, judging by my brother-in-law, this seems to be a very nourishing form of diet. + 

I would profit by their wise and patriotic councils did not the thought of who would “mobilise” my Peter and Jena have a deterring effect. As for the latter suggestion, I am sorry that I don’t know where to find the beneficent breasts into which to dig my teeth. + 

I’m stupid and unadaptable; I can only do work I’m used to. God! how I envy the rich! With what despair and avarice do I look at their big houses with the plate-glass windows, and their motorcars and carriages, and showy, loathsome clothes; their gold and diamonds! I hate to think that I can’t do what they do! Since all are plundering, why must I starve for some empty word like honour, which people only laugh at, if they think of it at all? + 