Critics are like horse-flies which hinder the horses in their plowing of the soil. The horse works, all its muscles drawn tight… — Anton Chekhov Copy Share Image
I've been reading reviews of my stories for twenty-five years, and can't remember a single useful point in any of them, or… — Anton Chekhov Copy Share Image
The critics suppose that it is easy to write a play. They aren't aware that writing a good play is difficult and… — Anton Chekhov Copy Share Image
“Using vile means to attain worthy ends makes the ends themselves vile. Let them ride on the backs of doctors and medical assistants, but… — Anton Chekhov Copy Share Image
There are still many more days of failure ahead, whole seasons of failure, things will go terribly wrong, you will have huge disappointments ,… — Anton Chekhov Copy Share Image
“But here was all the timorousness and angularity of inexperienced youth, a feeling of awkwardness, and an impression of bewilderment, as if someone had… — Anton Chekhov Copy Share Image
“At the water's edge, barrels of pitch blazed like huge bonfires. Their reflection, crimson as the rising moon, crept to meet us in long,… — Anton Chekhov Copy Share Image
Anna Petrovna: Never talk to women about your own good qualities. Let them find out for themselves. — Anton Chekhov Copy Share Image
While you're playing cards with a regular guy or having a bite to eat with him, he seems a peaceable, good-humoured and not entirely… — Anton Chekhov Copy Share Image
“Lebedev: France has a clear and defined policy... The French know what they want. They just want to wipe out the Krauts, finish, but… — Anton Chekhov Copy Share Image
“My holy of holies are the human body, health, intelligence, talent, inspiration, love, and the most absolute freedom - freedom from force and falsity,… — Anton Chekhov Copy Share Image
“What we have, we do not treasure,” and what’s more we do not even love it.” — Anton Chekhov Copy Share Image
No matter how corrupt and unjust a convict may be, he loves fairness more than anything else. If the people placed over him are… — Anton Chekhov Copy Share Image
