That damn Anton:
He's looking right through you.
What Chekhov knows about people − and doesn’t shrink from
saying − is how petty we are, and indolent, and not only self-centered but
blind; oh, and how easily we give up! We say
we haven’t, we’re pressing on; but that we're going forward doesn't mean we haven't given up. We pretend we are hanging onto our ideals, but we have long since let them
go; our hold on them was tenuous in any case. If we maintain them, it is only as ideals: this is what we should have done, what we
should be doing, who we should be, who we would be if . . . But it’s not possible.
I mean you have to
come to terms with the possible.
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