We have a task before us which must be speedily performed. We know that it will be ruinous to make delay. The most important crisis of our life calls, trumpet-tongued, for immediate energy and action. We glow, we are consumed with eagerness to commence the work, with the anticipation of whose glorious result our whole souls are on fire. It must, it shall be undertaken to-day, and yet we put it off until to-morrow; and why? There is no answer, except that we feel perverse, using the word with no comprehension of the principle. To-morrow arrives, and with it a more impatient anxiety to do our duty, but with this very increase of anxiety arrives, also, a nameless, a positively fearful, because unfathomable, craving for delay. This craving gathers strength as the moments fly. The last hour for action is at hand. We tremble with the violence of the conflict within us, — of the definite with the indefinite — of the substance with the shadow. But, if the contest have proceeded thus far, it is the shadow which prevails, — we struggle in vain. The clock strikes, and is the knell of our welfare. At the same time, it is the chanticleer-note to the ghost that has so long overawed us. It flies — it disappears — we are free. The old energy returns. We will labor now. Alas, it is too late!

In accepting and defending the social institution of slavery, the Greeks were harder-hearted than we but clearer-headed; they knew that labor as such is slavery, and that no man can feel a personal pride in being a laborer. A man can be proud of being a worker – someone, that is, who fabricates enduring objects, but in our society, the process of fabrication has been so rationalized in the interests of speed, economy and quantity that the part played by the individual factory employee has become too small for it to be meaningful to him as work, and practically all workers have been reduced to laborers. It is only natural, therefore, that the arts which cannot be rationalized in this way – the artist still remains personally responsible for what he makes – should fascinate those who, because they have no marked talent, are afraid, with good reason, that all they have to look forward to is a lifetime of meaningless labor. This fascination is not due to the nature of art itself, but to the way in which an artists works; he, and in our age, almost nobody else, is his own master. The idea of being one’s own master appeals to most human beings, and this is apt to lead to the fantastic hope that the capacity for artistic creation is universal, something nearly all human beings, by virtue, not by some special talent, but due to their humanity, could do if they tried.

One of the causes of unhappiness among intellectuals in the present day is that so many of them, especially those whose skill is literary, find no opportunity for the independent exercise of their talents, but have to hire themselves out to rich corporations directed by Philistines, who insist upon their producing what they themselves regard as pernicious nonsense. If you were to inquire among journalists in either England or America whether they believed in the policy of the newspaper for which they worked, you would find, I believe, that only a small minority do so; the rest, for the sake of a livelihood, prostitute their skill to purposes which they believe to be harmful. Such work cannot bring any real satisfaction, and in the course of reconciling himself to the doing of it, a man has to make himself so cynical that he can no longer derive whole-hearted satisfaction from anything whatever. I cannot condemn men who undertake work of this sort, since starvation is too serious an alternative, but I think that where it is possible to do work that is satisfactory to man’s constructive impulses without entirely starving, he will be well advised from the point of view of his own happiness if he chooses it in preference to work much more highly paid but not seeming to him worth doing on its own account. Without self-respect genuine happiness is scarcely possible. And the man who is ashamed of his work can hardly achieve self-respect.

I often ask, "What do you want to work at? If you have the chance. When you get out of school, college, the service, etc." Some answer right off and tell their definite plans and projects, highly approved by Papa. I'm pleased for them* but it's a bit boring, because they are such squares. Quite a few will, with prompting, come out with astounding stereotyped, conceited fantasies, such as becoming a movie actor when they are "discovered" "like Marlon Brando, but in my own way." Very rarely somebody will, maybe defiantly and defensively, maybe diffidently but proudly, make you know that he knows very well what he is going to do; it is something great; and he is indeed already doing it, which is the real test. The usual answer, perhaps the normal answer, is "I don't know," meaning, "I'm looking; I haven't found the right thing; it's discouraging but not hopeless." But the terrible answer is, "Nothing." The young man doesn't want to do anything. I remember talking to half a dozen young fellows at Van Wagner's Beach outside of Hamilton, Ontario; and all of them had this one thing to say: "Nothing." They didn't believe that what to work at was the kind of thing one wanted. They rather expected that two or three of them would work for the electric company in town, but they couldn't care less, I turned away from the conversation abruptly because of the uncontrollable burning tears in my eyes and constriction in my chest. Not feeling sorry for them, but tears of frank dismay for the waste of our humanity (they were nice kids). And it is out of that incident that many years later I am writing this book.

At first Christ was a man – nothing more. Mary was his mother, Joseph his father. The genealogy of his father, Joseph, was given to show that he was of the blood of David.Then the claim was made that he was the son of God, and that his mother was a virgin, and that she remained a virgin until her death.The claim was made that Christ rose from the dead and ascended bodily to heaven.It required many years for these absurdities to take possession of the minds of men.If he really ascended, why did he not do so in public, in the presence of his persecutors? Why should this, the greatest of miracles, be done in secret, in a corner?Is Christ our example? He never said a word in favor of education. He never even hinted at the existence of any science. He never uttered a word in favor of industry, economy or of any effort to better our condition in this world. He was the enemy of the successful, of the wealthy. Dives was sent to hell, not because he was bad, but because he was rich.Lazarus went to heaven, not because he was good, but because he was poor.Christ cared nothing for painting, for sculpture, for music – nothing for any art. He said nothing about the duties of nation to nation, of king to subject; nothing about the rights of man; nothing about intellectual liberty or the freedom of speech. He said nothing about the sacredness of home; not one word for the fireside; not a word in favor of marriage, in honor of maternity.He never married. He wandered homeless from place to place with a few disciples. None of them seem to have been engaged in any useful business, and they seem to have lived on alms.All human ties were held in contempt; this world was sacrificed for the next; all human effort was discouraged. God would support and protect. At last, in the dusk of death, Christ, finding that he was mistaken, cried out: “My God! My God! Why hast thou forsaken me?We have found that man must depend on himself. He must clear the land; he must build the home; he must plow and plant; he must invent; he must work with hand and brain; he must overcome the difficulties and obstructions; he must conquer and enslave the forces of nature to the end that they may do the work of the world.

So what's your doll's name?" Boo asked me."Barbie," I said. "All their names are Barbie.""I see," she said. "Well, I'd think that would get boring, everyone having the samename."I thought about this, then said, "Okay, then her name is Sabrina.""Well, that's a very nice name," Boo said. I remember she was baking bread,kneading the doughbetween her thick fingers. "What does she do?""Do?" I said."Yes." She flipped the dough over and started in on it from the other side. "Whatdoes she do?""She goes out with Ken," I said."And what else?""She goes to parties," I said slowly. "And shopping.""Oh," Boo said, nodding."She can't work?""She doesn't have to work," I said."Why not?""Because she's Barbie.""I hate to tell you, Caitlin, but somebody has to make payments on that town houseand the Corvette,"Boo said cheerfully. "Unless Barbie has a lot of family money."I considered this while I put on Ken's pants.Boo started pushing the dough into a pan, smoothing it with her hand over the top."You know what Ithink, Caitlin?" Her voice was soft and nice, the way she always spoke to me."What?""I think your Barbie can go shopping, and go out with Ken, and also have aproductive and satisfyingcareer of her own." She opened the oven and slid in the bread pan, adjusting itsposition on the rack."But what can she do?" My mother didn't work and spent her time cleaning thehouse and going to PTA.I couldn't imagine Barbie, whose most casual outfit had sequins and go-go boots,doing s.uch things.Boo came over and plopped right down beside me. I always rememberher being on my level; she'd siton the edge of the sandbox, or lie across her bed with me and Cass as we listened tothe radio."Well," she said thoughtfully, picking up Ken and examining his perfect physique."What do you want todo when you grow up?"I remember this moment so well; I can still see Boo sitting there on the floor, cross-legged, holding myKen and watching my face as she tried to make me see that between my mother'sPTA and Boo'sstrange ways there was a middle ground that began here with my Barbie, Sab-rina,and led right to me."Well," I said abruptly, "I want to be in advertising." I have no idea where this camefrom."Advertising," Boo repeated, nodding. "Okay. Advertising it is. So Sabrina has to goto work every day,coming up with ideas for commercialsand things like that.""She works in an office," I went on. "Sometimes she has to work late.""Sure she does," Boo said. "It's hard to get ahead. Even if you're Barbie.""Because she wants to get promoted," I added. "So she can pay off the town house.And the Corvette.""Very responsible of her," Boo said."Can she be divorced?" I asked. "And famous for her commercialsand ideas?""She can be anything," Boo told me, and this is what I remember most, her freckledface so solemn, as ifshe knew she was the first to tell me. "And so can you.

У меня постоянно и беспросветно много дел, и чем больше их накапливается, тем меньше охоты, а вернее, тем больше отвращения их делать. Покуда я в конторе присутствую, употреблением последних остатков личного влияния мне ещё как-то удаётся оградить от посторонних глаз свой доверху заваленный задолженностями рабочий стол, но если я буду сидеть дома, стол останется без присмотра, и уж тогда совершенно неизбежно в течение всего дня эти задолженности станут поочерёдно взрываться, как мины замедленного действия, что по возвращении грозит обернуться для меня немалыми неприятностями.

Занимая третий год место начальника одного из присутственных мест в Москве, Степан Аркадьич приобрел, кроме любви, и уважение сослуживцев, подчиненных, начальников и всех, кто имел до него дело. Главные качества Степана Аркадьича, заслужившие ему это общее уважение по службе, состояли, во-первых, в чрезвычайной снисходительности к людям, основанной в нем на сознании своих недостатков; во-вторых, в совершенной либеральности, не той, про которую он вычитал в газетах, но той, что у него была в крови и с которою он совершенно равно и одинаково относился ко всем людям, какого бы состояния и звания они ни были, и, в-третьих, -- главное -- в совершенном равнодушии к тому делу, которым он занимался, вследствие чего он никогда не увлекался и не делал ошибок.

Научих нещо много рано. Ако просто работиш, ако просто се опитваш да вършиш добра работа и не се разсейваш нито от неприятности, нито от удоволствия, нито от рецензии или изкушения, всичко си се подрежда само. Защото с годините трупаш дела и ако има нещо, което да искаш да кажеш на хората, нещо, което има смисъл за тях, то е там. Винаги има хора, с които да общуваш. Не може да мислиш за пари. Имало е много случай през годините, когато съм давал целия си хонорар на компанията, за да снимам още 5 или 10 дни. Случвало се е да работя по цяла година за без пари. Разбрах, че ако не мислиш за това и просто работиш, дори и парите идват сами. Затова най-добре е да работиш и да не се разсейваш. Откъсни се от света и просто работи. Аз винаги съм бил като щраус. Това има и своите недостатъци, но пък има и предимства.

Фонтане в 1876 году принял чиновничью должность секретаря Королевской Академии искусств, а через три с половиной месяца, после жутких скандалов с женой, от должности отказался. Своей подруге он пишет: "Весь свет меня осуждает, я прослыл ребячливым, взбалмошным, заносчивым. И я вынужден всё это сносить. Говорить об этом я давно уже перестал" и т. д., а потом: "...вот уже три с половиной месяца месяца я на службе. За всё это время не было у меня ни единой радости в жизни, ни единого просвета. Место это мне, что с личной, что с деловой стороны, одинаково противно. Всё меня раздражает, всё оглупляет меня, всё мне отвратительно. Я ясно чувствую, что делаюсь на службе только всё несчастней, становлюсь душевнобольным, превращаюсь в меланхолика". "Нельзя идти супротив своей внутренней природы, ведь в каждом человеческом сердце есть нечто, чего ни уластить, ни переступить невозможно, коли испытываешь неприязнь. Вот и пришла пора выбрать, продолжить ли мне ради внешней обеспеченности жизнь тупую, беспросветную и безрадостную, либо".

Положение человека, живущего в чужой семье в качестве ли учителя, секретаря, компаньона, приживальщика, в большей части случаев стеснительное, зависимое от нанимателя и кормильца. "Я тружусь, следовательно, независим, сам себя знаю и ни пред кем не хочу гнуть спины" - такая истина редко имеет смысл в наших обществах. Протекцию, деньги, поклоны, пронырство, наушничество и тому подобные качества надобно иметь для того, чтобы добиться права на труд; а у нас хозяин почти всегда ломается над наёмщиком, купец над приказчиком, начальник над подчинённым, священник над дьячком; во всех сферах русского труда, который вам лично деньги приносит, подчинённый является нищим, получающим содержание от благодетеля-хозяина. Их этих экономических чисто русских, кровных начал наших вытекает принцип национальной независимости: "Ничего не делаю, значит - я свободен; нанимаю, значит - я независим"; тот же принцип, иначе выраженный: "Я много тружусь, следовательно, раб я; нанимаюсь, следовательно, чужой хлеб ем". Не труд нас кормит - начальство и место кормит; дающий работу - благодетель, работающий - благодетельствуемый; наши начальники - кормильцы. У нас само слово "работа" происходит от слова "раб"... Вот отсюда-то для многих очень естественно и законно вытекает презрение к труду как признаку зависимости и любовь к праздности как имеющей авторитет свободы и человеческого достоинства.- Н.Г. Помяловский "Мещанское счастье