'In that case, a nap's not a bad thing,' observed Arkady.
'Certainly; only don't look at me; every man's face is stupid when he's asleep.'
'But isn't it all the same to you what people think of you?'
'I don't know what to say to you. A real man ought not to care; a real man is one whom it's no use thinking about, whom one must either obey or hate.'
'It's funny! I don't hate anybody,' observed Arkady, after a moment's thought.
'And I hate so many. You are a soft-hearted, mawkish creature; how could you hate any one?... You're timid; you don't rely on yourself much.'
'And you,' interrupted Arkady, 'do you expect much of yourself? Have you a high opinion of yourself?'
Bazarov paused. 'When I meet a man who can hold his own beside me,' he said, dwelling on every syllable, 'then I'll change my opinion of myself. Yes, hatred! You said, for instance, to-day as we passed our bailiff Philip's cottage—it's the one that's so nice and clean—well, you said, Russia will come to perfection when the poorest peasant has a house like that, and every one of us ought to work to bring it about.... And I felt such a hatred for this poorest peasant,
