Bent down by the absence of meaning and worn out by need for its presence

“List my goods too!” asked Voshchev as he unpacked his bag.

In the village he had gathered every beggarly and rejected object, unconsciousness of every kind and all the trivia of unknownnesss–to be avenged by socialist vengence. This worn-out, enduring frailty had once touched brotherly, laboring flesh; in these things was imprinted forever the burden of a life bent down, a life that had been expended without conscious meaning and that had perished without glory somewhere beneath the earth’s rye stubble. Without fully understanding but with miserly thrift, Voshchev had accumulated in his bag the material remnants of lost people who had lived, like him, without truth and who had passed away earlier than the victorious end. Now he was prsenting these liquidated laborers to the attention of the authorities and the future, in order to achieve vengeance through the organization of eternal human meaning–on behalf of those who are now lying quietly in the earthly depth. 

The Foundation Pit, Andrey Platonov