Posts tagged "chekhov"
It is so plain that, before we can live in the present, we must first redeem the past, and have done with it; and it is only by suffering that we can redeem it, only by strenuous, unremitting toil. If you have the household keys, throw them in the well and go away. Be free, be free as the wind. Believe what I say, Anya; believe what I say. I’m not thirty yet; I am still young, still a student; but what I have been through! I am hungry as the winter; I am sick, anxious, poor as a beggar. Fate has tossed me hither and thither; I have been everywhere, everywhere. But wherever I have been, every minute, day and night, my soul has been full of mysterious anticipations. I feel the approach of happiness, Anya; I see it coming…
Trofimov, The Cherry Orchard

Today I found a pen on the train and got some nice books

SONIA. What can we do? We must live our lives. [A pause] Yes, we shall live, Uncle Vanya. We shall live through the long procession of days before us, and through the long evenings; we shall patiently bear the trials that fate imposes on us; we shall work for others without rest, both now and when we are old; and when our last hour comes we shall meet it humbly, and there, beyond the grave, we shall say that we have suffered and wept, that our life was bitter, and God will have pity on us. Ah, then dear, dear Uncle, we shall see that bright and beautiful life; we shall rejoice and look back upon our sorrow here; a tender smile—and—we shall rest. I have faith, Uncle, fervent, passionate faith. [SONIA kneels down before her uncle and lays her head on his hands. She speaks in a weary voice] We shall rest. [TELEGIN plays softly on the guitar] We shall rest. We shall hear the angels. We shall see heaven shining like a jewel. We shall see all evil and all our pain sink away in the great compassion that shall enfold the world. Our life will be as peaceful and tender and sweet as a caress. I have faith; I have faith. [She wipes away her tears] My poor, poor Uncle Vanya, you are crying! [Weeping] You have never known what happiness was, but wait, Uncle Vanya, wait! We shall rest. [She embraces him] We shall rest. [The WATCHMAN’S rattle is heard in the garden; TELEGIN plays softly; MME. VOITSKAYA writes something on the margin of her pamphlet; MARINA knits her stocking] We shall rest.

[The stage is empty. There is the sound of all the doors being locked with keys, then the carriages leaving. It becomes quiet. The silence is broken by the hollow striking of an axe against a tree, sounding solitary and sad. There are footsteps. FIRS appears at the right-hand door. He is dressed as usual in a jacket and white waistcoat and slippers. He is ill.]

FIRS [going to the door, trying the handle]: Locked. They’ve gone … [Sits down on the sofa.] They’ve forgotten about me … It doesn’t matter … I’ll sit here a moment … And Leonid Andreich probably didn’t put on his fur coat but went off in his light one … [Sighs worriedly.] I didn’t look … Young people! [Mumbles something unintelligible.] Life has gone by, as if I hadn’t lived. [Lies down.] I’ll lie down a moment … You’ve got no strength, nothing is left, nothing … Oh you … big booby! … [Lies motionless]

Come what may, I’m going to get drunk today. Chin-chin!
Tuzenbakh, Three Sisters
Little muzhik… Yes, my father was a muzhik and here I am in white gloves and yellow shoes. A pig in a baker’s shop… But though I’m rich and have a lot of money, if you think a moment and work it out, I’m muzhik through and through… [Leafs through the pages of his book.] I was reading this book and understood nothing. I read and I fell asleep.
Lopakhin, The Cherry Orchard
I remember, when I was a lad of fifteen, my old father - he had a shop here in the village then - punched me in the face, my nose bled… We’d come here together for some reason, into the yard, and he was drunk. Lyubov Andreyevna, I remember, was still very young and so thin, she brought me to the washstand in this very room, in the nursery. ‘Don’t cry, little muzhik,’ she said, ‘it’ll be all right by your wedding-day…’
Lopakhin, The Cherry Orchard

¬_¬

  • Tuzenbakh: This time has come, a great mass is moving towards all of us, a mighty, healthy storm is rising, it's coming, it's already near, and soon it will blow sloth, indifference, contempt for work, this festering boredom right out of our society. I will work and in some twenty-five or thirty years' time everyone will work. Everyone!
  • Chebutykin: I won't work.
  • Tuzenbakh: You don't count.
The water was running, he knew not where or why, just as it did in May. In May it had flowed into the great river, from the great river into the sea; then it had risen in vapour, turned into rain, and perhaps the very same water was running now before Ryabovitch’s eyes again… What for? Why?

And the whole world, the whole of life, seemed to Ryabovitch an unintelligible, aimless jest… And turning his eyes from the water and looking at the sky, he remembered again how fate in the person of an unknown woman had by chance caressed him, he remembered his summer dreams and fancies, and his life struck him as extraordinarily meagre, poverty-stricken, and colourless…

The Kiss, Anton Chekhov

bibliotaph

n. a hoarder of books.

gastrosoph

n. an expert or skilled eater

I'm Mark. I'm 25 and I teach at a college in London.

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