An interview with a businessman:

Why do I do it? It's not for the money. I had plenty of that before I started; and the way things are going nowadays it's sometimes hard to see the profit in the business anyway. Is it to give me something to do with my time? Nah, I'm the kind of person who's perfectly content to just be; I don't need to be "doing something" to feel complete. In fact, going to the office and dealing with all the flatterers and cheats and fools makes me feel diminished, like I'm giving up what's best in me just by being there and playing their game.

So why do I do it? I ask myself that question every day. But I'll tell you what it is. Every once in a while, maybe once a year, I take a tour of the actual factories, the production lines where the men and women in the overalls put the product together. I walk the floor, and one of them calls out to me, "Hey, Boss! Thanks for this job! I hope we're making good money for you!" Then another one comes over with last year's production figures, and next year's plans and promises... I know what you're thinking, but no, it's not an ego thing. I could easily sponsor a university or an art museum and get ten times the honor and glory with none of the disappointments and heartaches. What it is is the feeling that you're part of these people's lives, that they see themselves as partners in your vision, that they've chosen to devote their lives to making your dreams a reality... there's nothing like that in the world.

An interview with an artist:

Why do I do it? People think it's because I have this talent inside me screaming for expression. That may be part of it, but if it is, it's a very small part. First of all, there's much more to me than my "talents," of which painting is not the only or even greatest one. Second of all, if it were only a matter of expressing my talent, that's the easy part. I'd shut myself in a room and paint. But that's not what I do — I paint to be understood, I paint to be viewed, I paint to (shall we be crass?) to sell. That's where all the frustrations and disappointments come in, the physical and emotional exhaustion — in the effort to produce something that the galleries would display, that the collectors would buy, that the man on the street would appreciate. Why do I bother?

I'll tell you what it is. I remember the first time I sold a painting. The feeling that there's a partner to your vision, that there's someone out there who "gets it" to the extent that he's willing to pay money to own a piece of it. Even if you've only succeeded in imparting one percent of your vision to the canvass, and even if buyer appreciates only one percent of what you've imparted, still, the guy has bought into it! You're sharing a tiny piece of your soul. There's nothing like that in the world.

An interview with G‑d:

Why do I do it? I already have all the money, power, satisfaction, fulfillment and pleasure there's to be had — I'm infinite, you know, and besides, all these things don't really count for much if you're the one who created them in the first place. I don't need something to do with my time — I invented that too. So why do I involve myself the way I do? Why do I subject myself to the frustrations and disappointments that come with creating and running this world? It's a question I ask myself every second of the time — many, many times a second.

But I'll tell you what it is. Once a year, on Rosh Hashanah, I take a tour of all the shuls in the world. I see the men in their tallitot, the women with their prayer books, the guy up there with the shofar proclaiming me king of the universe in the name of everyone in the room. I hear their hearts screaming: "Hey, Boss! Thanks for this job! We hope you're getting what you want out of the business... Please, can you renew our contract for another year?" They bring me their lists of accomplishments, apologize for the screw-ups, and make all kinds of promises for the next year. Then it hits me: these guys have bought into my dream! Never mind that they don't begin to understand one hundredth of one percent of what what I'm telling them about what I want from them. Never mind that they're flatterers, cheats and fools (at least sometimes they are). They see themselves as partners to my vision; they want to to help me make it happen, to be involved in this enterprise of mine, this life I breathed into them. They've bought into it, and are holding on with everything they've got.

For me, there's nothing like it in the world. Nor outside of it, for that matter.