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Three o'clock in the morning. The soft April night is looking at my windows and caressingly winking at me with its stars. I can't sleep, I am so happy.
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
Looking
April
Happy
Windows
Night
Soft
Three
Clock
Window
Sleep
Stars
Morning
Winking
More quotes by Anton Chekhov
Man has been endowed with reason, with the power to create, so that he can add to what he's been given.
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Love, friendship and respect do not unite people as much as common hatred for something.
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We shall find peace. We shall hear angels, we shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds.
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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.
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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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We live not in order to eat, but in order not to know what we feel like eating.
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When asked, Why do you always wear black?, he said, I am mourning for my life.
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The task of a writer is not to solve the problem but to state the problem correctly.
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Life is given only once, and one wants to live it boldly, with full conscious and beauty.
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To Moscow, to Moscow, to Moscow!
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Who keeps the tavern and serves up the drinks? The peasant. Who squanders and drinks up money belonging to the peasant commune, the school, the church? The peasant. Who would steal from his neighbor, commit arson, and falsely denounce another for a bottle of vodka? The peasant.
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Dear, sweet, unforgettable childhood! Why does this irrevocable time, forever departed, seem brighter, more festive and richer than it actually was?
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The wealthy are always surrounded by hangers-on science and art are as well.
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It is depressing to hear the unfortunate or dying man jest.
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The unhappy are egoistic, spiteful, unjust, cruel, and less capable of understanding each other than fools. Unhappiness does not bring people together but draws them apart, and even where one would fancy people should be united by the similarity of their sorrow, far more injustice and cruelty is generated than in comparatively placid surroundings.
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Each of us is full of too many wheels, screws and valves to permit us to judge one another on a first impression or by two or three external signs.
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I kept thinking how marvellous it would be if I could somehow tear my heart, which felt so heavy, out of my chest.
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He is an emancipated thinker who is not afraid to write foolish things.
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