Quote

Write about this man who, drop by drop, squeezes the slave's blood out of himself until he wakes one day to find the blood of a real human being--not a slave's--coursing through his veins.

Anton Chekhov

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Anton Chekhov
Age: 44 †
Born: 1860
Born: January 1
Died: 1904
Died: January 1
Author
Dramaturge
Journalist
Novelist
Physician
Playwright
Prosaist
Satirist
Writer
Tahanroh
Anton Pavlovich Chekhov
Antón Pávlovič Čéhov
Antón Pávlovich Chékhov
Chekhov
Humans
Wakes
Real
Veins
Writing
Drop
Men
Slave
Blood
Write
Find
Squeezes
Human
Coursing

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In all the universe nothing remains permanent and unchanged but the spirit.
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Exquisite nature, daydreams, and music say one thing, real life another.
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It's been a long time since I've had champagne.
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You've only got to begin to do anything to find out how few honest, honourable people there are. Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I think: Oh Lord, you've given us huge forests, infinite fields, and endless horizons, and we, living here, ought really to be giants.
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Death is terrifying, but it would be even more terrifying to find out that you are going to live forever and never die.
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There is something beautiful, touching and poetic when one person loves more than the other, and the other is indifferent.
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[Ognev] recalled endless, heated, purely Russian arguments, when the wranglers, spraying spittle and banging their fists on the table, fail to understand yet interrupt one another, themselves not even noticing it, contradict themselves with every phrase, change the subject, then, having argued for two or three hours, begin to laugh.
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It's not a matter of old or new forms a person writes without thinking about any forms, he writes because it flows freely from his soul.
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Eyes - the head's chief of police. They watch and make mental notes.
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Even while lying, you'll be believed if you speak with authority.
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Tsars and slaves, the intelligent and the obtuse, publicans and pharisees all have an identical legal and moral right to honor the memory of the deceased as they see fit, without regard for anyone else's opinion and without the fear of hindering one another.
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He is an emancipated thinker who is not afraid to write foolish things.
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Watching a woman make Russian pancakes, you might think that she was calling on the spirits or extracting from the batter the philosopher's stone.
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He who desires nothing, hopes for nothing, and is afraid of nothing, cannot be an artist.
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But if you had asked him what his work was, he would look candidly and openly at you with his large bright eyes through his gold pincenez, and would answer in a soft, velvety, lisping baritone: My work is literature.
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A litterateur is not a confectioner, not a dealer in cosmetics, not an entertainer. . . . He is just like an ordinary reporter. What would you say if a newspaper reporter, because of his fastidiousness or from a wish to give pleasure to his readers, were to describe only honest mayors, high-minded ladies, and virtuous railroad contractors.
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Art, especially the stage, is an area where it is impossible to walk without stumbling. There are in store for you many unsuccessful days and whole unsuccessful seasons: there will be great misunderstandings and deep disappointments… you must be prepared for all this, expect it and nevertheless, stubbornly, fanatically follow your own way.
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Nothing can be accomplished by logic and ethics.
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The snow has not yet left the earth but spring is already asking to enter your heart.
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