Chekhov Cherry Orchard Quotes

Perhaps man has a hundred senses, and when he dies only the five senses that we know perish with him, and the other ninety-five remain alive.

I should think I'm going to be a perpetual student.

And what does it mean -- dying? Perhaps man has a hundred senses, and only the five we know are lost at death, while the other ninety-five remain alive.

A hungry dog believes in nothing but meat.

We just philosophize, complain of boredom, or drink vodka. It's so clear, you see, that if we're to begin living in the present, we must first of all redeem our past and then be done with it forever. And the only way we can redeem our past is by suffering and by giving ourselves over to exceptional labor, to steadfast and endless labor.

Going to see plays isn't what you people should do. Try looking at yourselves a little more often and see what gray lives you all lead. How much of what you say is unnecessary.

I am a man of cultivation; I have studied various remarkable books, but I cannot fathom the direction of my preferences; do I want to live or do I want to shoot myself, so to speak? But in order to be ready for all contingencies, I always carry a revolver in my pocket.

What she can't get into her narrow mind is that we're above such things as love. Our whole aim - the whole sense of our life - is to avoid petty illusions that stop us being free and happy. On, on, on!

NINA: ...what's important is...the ability to endure. To be able to bear one's cross and have faith. I have faith, and it's not so painful now, and when I think of my vocation, I'm not afraid of life.

Life’s all done, just as if I never even lived it ...

But if we reason it out simply and not try to be one bit fancy, then what sort of pride can you possibly take or what's the sense of ever having it, if man is poorly put together as a physiological type and if the enormous majority of the human race is brutal, stupid, and profoundly unhappy?

I love him, love him. He's a millstone round my neck - he'll take me to the bottom with him. But I love this millstone of mine - I can't live without it.

We shall die all the same.

I saw a sign for "Book's" with an apostrophe in it, and something deep inside me snapped; snapped with that melancholy sound you hear in Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard, like a far-off cable breaking in a mine-shaft.

They are all very serious people with stern expressions on their faces. They discuss nothing but important matters and like to philosophize a great deal, while at the same time everyone can see that the workers are detestably fed, sleep without suitable bedding, thirty to forty in a room with bedbugs everywhere, the stench, the dampness, and the moral corruption... Obviously all our fine talk has gone on simply to hoodwink ourselves and other people as well. Show me the day nurseries that they're talking about so much about. And where are the libraries? Why, they just write about nurseries and libraries in novels, while in fact not a single one even exists. What does exist is nothing but dirt, vulgarity, and a barbarian way of life... I dislike these terribly serious faces, they frighten me, and I'm afraid of serious conversations, too. We'd be better off if we all would just shut up for a while!

LUBOV. I'm quite sure there wasn't anything at all funny. You oughtn't to go and see plays, you ought to go and look at yourself. What a grey life you lead, what a lot you talk unnecessarily.

I know exactly the potential of the people around here. They have the potential to lie. They have the potential to deceive. They have the potential to inveigle. They’ll change nothing. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I lie awake thinking, my God! We have so much. We have these huge forests. We have boundless open fields. We can see the deepest, furthest horizons. Look around you. Look. We should be giants. We really, really aren’t.

Daca pentru o boala se prescriu multe leacuri, sa stii ca boala e de nelecuit.

There is something mystical in the proud man in the sense in which you use the words. You may be right from your point of view, but, if we look at it simple-mindedly, what room is there for pride? Is there any sense in it, when man is so poorly constructed from the physiological point of view, when the vast majority of us are so gross and stupid and profoundly unhappy? We must give up admiring ourselves. The only thing to do is to work.

Dã-mi, Doamne, ce n-am gîndit, sã mã mir ce m-a gãsit... Aşa şi cu mine. De îmbogãţit m-am îmbogãţit, am parale cu carul... Dar cînd stau sã chibzuiesc şi sã judec mai bine, tot ţãran am rãmas...

E ca o piatră care-mi stă legată de gat şi mă trage la fund, dar vezi, eu iubesc piatra asta şi nu pot fără ea.

Tot ceea ce ne depăşeşte azi într-o zi va fi un lucru pe înţelesul tuturor, obişnuit.

Please leave me alone. I’m dreaming.

Cîteodatã, cînd nu pot s-adorm, mã gîndesc: «Doamne, tu ne-ai dat pãduri nesfîrsite, cîmpii cît vezi cu ochii, zãri fãrã de margini, si trãind în ele, ar fi trebuit sã fim si noi niste uriasi...»

Rãsare luna. (Pauzã.) latã fericirea! Uite-o, vine, se apropie tot mai mult, tot mai mult, îi aud pasii. Si chiar dacã noi n-o vom vedea, n-o vom cunoaste, n-are nici o importanþã... Vor vedea-o altii!

И что значит - умрешь? Быть может, у человека сто чувств и со смертью погибают только пять, известных нам, а остальные девяносто пять остаются живы.

أنا أخاف السحنات الجدية جدا ولا أحبها ، أخاف الأحاديث الجدية ، الأفضل أن نصمت !

Dar cîti oameni sînt, frate, în Rusia, care nici nu stiu de ce sînt pe pãmînt!

If there was no such thing as food, Oyster Bay would be called just Bay, and for the title of The Cherry Orchard Chekhov would have chosen A Group of Empty Trees, Regularly Spaced.

Noi filozofãm doar, ne plîngem de plictisealã si bem vodcã. Vezi, e atît de limpede cã pentru a începe sã trãiesti cu adevãrat trebuie mai întîi sã-þi rãscumperi trecutul, sã isprãveºti cu el! Si nu poþi sã-l rãscumperi decît prin suferinþã, printr-o muncã uriasã si neîntreruptã!

Have you ever seen a really beautiful production of, say, The Cherry Orchard? Don't say you have. Nobody has. You may have seen 'inspired' productions, 'competent' productions, but never anything beautiful. Never one where Chekhov's talent is matched, nuance for nuance, idiosyncrasy for idiosyncrasy, by every soul on-stage. You worry hell out of me, Zooey. Forgive the pessimism, if not the sonority. But I know how much you demand from a thing, you little bastard. And I've had the hellish experience of sitting next to you at the theatre. I can so clearly see you demanding something from the performing arts that just isn't residual there. For heaven's sake, be careful.

Dear, highly esteemed bookcase, I salute you. For over a hundred years you have devoted yourself to the glorious ideals of goodness and justice. Throughout the hundred years your silent appeal to fruitful work has never faltered. It sustained [through tears] in several generations of our family, their courage and faith in a better future and fostered in us the ideals of goodness and social consciousness.

Varia se teme sã nu ne îndrãgostim unul de altul si se þine toatã ziua de noi. Cu mintea ei strîmtã, ea nu poate înþelege cã noi suntem mai presus de dragoste, cã nãzuim sã ne ridicãm peste tot ce e meschin si trecãtor, peste tot ceea ce ne împiedicã sã fim liberi si fericiþi. Iatã adevãratul înþeles si þelul vieþii noastre: înainte! Nimic nu ne va opri sã ne urmãm calea spre steaua ce strãluceste aprinsã în depãrtare. Inainte, deci! Sã nu rãmîneti în urmã, prieteni...

Dulapul a fost făcut exact acum o sută de ani. Ce spui? Am putea să-i serbăm jubileul! Fără îndoială, e un lucru neînsufletit, totusi, oricum ar fi, e un dulap de cărti. (…) (Pipãind dulapul.) Dulap scump si stimat! Salut existenta ta, care de o sutã de ani e destinatã idealului luminos al binelui si dreptãtii! Chemarea ta tãcutã pentru o muncã rodnicã n-a slãbit de-alungul unui veac întreg, susþinînd (printre lacrimi) în familia noastrã, din tatã în fiu, curajul si credina generatiilor într-un viitor mai bun, crescîndu-ne în spiritul idealurilor de bine si ale constiinþei sociale...

Человечество идёт вперёд, совершенствуя свои силы. Всё, что недосягаемо для него теперь, когда-нибудь станет близким, понятным, только вот надо работать, помогать всеми силами тем, кто ищет истину. У нас, в России, работают пока очень немногие. Громадное большинство той интеллигенции, какую я знаю, ничего не ищет, ничего не делает и к труду пока не способно. Называют себя интеллигенцией, а прислуге говорят "ты", с мужиками обращаются как с животными, учатся плохо, серьёзно ничего не читают, ровно ничего не делают, о науках только говорят, в искусстве понимают мало. Все серьёзны, у всех строгие лица, все говорят только о важном, философствуют, а между тем у всех на глазах рабочие едят отвратительно, спят без подушек, по тридцати, по сорока в одной комнате, везде клопы, смрад, сырость, нравственная нечистота... И, очевидно, все хорошие разговоры у нас только для того, чтобы отвести глаза себе и другим.

Varia a peur que nous ne tombions amoureux l'un de l'autre. Elle ne peut pas comprendre, avec son esprit étroit, que nous sommes au-dessus de l'amour.

All Russia is our orchard. The land is great and beautiful, there are many marvellous places in it. Think, Anya, your grandfather, your great-grandfather, and all your ancestors were serf-owners, they owned living souls; and now, doesn't something human look at you from every cherry in the orchard, every leaf and every stalk? Don't you hear voices . . . ? Oh, it's awful, your orchard is terrible; and when in the evening or at night you walk through the orchard, then the old bark on the trees sheds a dim light and the old cherry-trees seem to be dreaming of all that was a hundred, two hundred years ago, and are oppressed by their heavy visions. Still, at any rate, we've left those two hundred years behind us. So far we've gained nothing at all--we don't yet know what the past is to be to us--we only philosophise, we complain that we are dull, or we drink vodka. For it's so clear that in order to begin to live in the present we must first redeem the past, and that can only be done by suffering, by strenuous, uninterrupted labour.

I'm young, I'm still a student, but I have undergone a great deal! I'm as hungry as the winter, I'm ill, I'm shaken. I'm as poor as a beggar, and where haven't I been — fate has tossed me everywhere! But my soul is always my own; every minute of the day and the night it is filled with unspeakable presentiments. I know that happiness is coming

Если против какой-нибудь болезни предлагается очень много средств, то это значит, что болезнь неизлечимо.

Подумайте, Аня: ваш дед, прадед и все ваши предки были крепостники, владевшие живыми душами, и неужели с каждой вишни в саду, с каждого листка, с каждого ствола не глядят на вас человеческие существа, неужели вы не слышите голосов... Владеть живыми душами - ведь это переродило всех вас, живших раньше и теперь живущих, так что ваша мать, вы, дядя уже не замечаете, что вы живёте в долг, на чужой счёт, на счёт тех людей, которых вы не пускаете дальше передней... Мы отстали по крайней мере лет на двести, у нас нет ещё ровно ничего, нет определённого отношения к прошлому, мы только философствуем, жалуемся на тоску или пьём водку. Ведь так ясно, чтобы начать жить в настоящем, надо сначала искупить наше прошлое, покончить с ним, а искупить его можно только страданием, только необычайным, непрерывным трудом.

Если бы мой отец и дед встали из гробов и посмотрели на всё происшествие, как их Ермолай, битый, малограмотный Ермолай, который зимой босиком бегал, как этот самый Ермолай купил имение, прекрасней которого ничего нет на свете. Я купил имение, где дед и отец были рабами, где их не пускали даже в кухню.

Человечество идёт к высшей правде, к высшему счастью, какое только возможно на земле, и я в первых рядах! Лопахин. Дойдёшь? Трофимов. Дойду. Пауза. Дойду или укажу другим путь, как дойти.

Notable from the foreword: The Cherry Orchard and The Seagull were written as "comedies", but have been traditionally performed as "tragedies" by later theater directors.

If we moved to Bonk we could get a big apartment for the cost of this place—' 'This is our home, Irina,' said the oldest sister. 'Ah, a home of lost illusions and thwarted hopes...' 'We could go out dancing and everything.' 'I remember when we lived in Bonk,' said the middle sister dreamily. 'Things vere better then.' 'Things vere alvays better then,' said the oldest sister. The youngest sister sighed and looked out of the window. She gasped. 'There's a man running through the cherry orchard!' 'A man? Vot could he possibly vant?' The youngest sister strained to see. 'It looks like he wants... a pair of trousers...' 'Ah,' said the middle sister dreamily. 'Trousers ver better then.

a Magdalene in a Parisian ballgown.

Because you're not that kind of man. You have such natural good manners, such a nice, gentle voice, and—and more than that. You're unlike anyone I know: You are—the salt of the earth! Why do you want to be like ordinary people, who drink and play cards? Oh, please, don't do it, I beseech you! You keep on saying that people do not create but only destroy what Heaven has given them. Then why do you destroy yourself? You mustn't, you mustn't—I beseech you, I beg you!