“No! death is an awful thing!” he said again, without noticing that he was replying to the mysterious voice. “You’re over-nervous about it,” observed Ivanoff contemptuously.
“Aren’t you?” said Yourii.
“I? N—no! Certainly, I don’t want to die, as there’s not much fun in it, and living is far jollier. But, if one has to die, I should like it to be quickly, without any fuss or nonsense.”
“You have not tried yet!” laughed Sanine.
“No; that’s quite true!” replied the other.
“Ah! well,” continued Yourii, “one has heard all that before. Say what you will, death is death, horrible in itself, and sufficient to rob a man of all pleasure in life who thinks of such a violent and inevitable end to it. What is the meaning of life?”
“It has no meaning,” cried Ivanoff irritably.
“No, that is impossible,” replied Yourii, “everything is too wisely and carefully arranged, and—”
“In my opinion,” said Sanine, “there’s nothing good anywhere.”
“How can you say that? What about Nature?”