‘Yes; and they are not few in number; and you know them, too.’
‘Eh? What words?’
‘Well, even Art—since you are an artist—Country, Science, Freedom, Justice.’
‘And what of love?’ asked Shubin.
‘Love, too, is a word that unites; but not the love you are eager for now; the love which is not enjoyment, the love which is self-sacrifice.’
Shubin frowned.
‘That’s all very well for Germans; I want to love for myself; I want to be first.’
‘To be first,’ repeated Bersenyev. ‘But it seems to me that to put one’s-self in the second place is the whole significance of our life.’
‘If all men were to act as you advise,’ commented Shubin with a plaintive expression, ‘none on earth would eat pine-apples; every one would be offering them to other people.’
‘That’s as much as to say, pine-apples are not necessary; but you need not be alarmed; there will always be plenty of people who like them enough to take the bread out of other men’s mouths to get them.’