[I-5]

[Chekhov]

SORIN: And what kind of theater is that?

TREPLEV: A theater with new theatrical forms! If we can't find them, then let's have no theater at all. Look at my mother - I love her very much, but her life is so pointless. Always partying with her latest flame, the famous writer, and hobnobbing with famous theater people, always getting her name in the paper - it all gets so boring. I'd be so much happier if she weren't a famous actress. You can't imagine what it's like for me at home. The house is always full of people, famous writers and famous actors, and the only nobody in the room is yours truly. The only reason anyone puts up with me is because I'm the son of the great actress. What have I got to show for myself? Three years at the University? Whenever anyone paid attention to me at all, I imagined they were feeling sorry for me. It was a terrible way to grow up.

SORIN: What kind of man is this writer she's hooked up with, Trigorin? I can't make him out at all.

TREPLEV: He's intelligent and decent - but a little melancholic. He's under forty and already famous. He seems to have everything he wants. As for his writing, it's charming and clever - but certainly he's no Tolstoy or Zola.

SORIN: I admire literary lions like Trigorin. You see, as a young man there were two things I passionately wanted - to marry and to become a writer. But neither happened. It would have been nice to be even a second-rate writer . . .

TREPLEV: Someone's coming - I'm sure it's her. Uncle, I can't live without her - even the sound of her footsteps gets my heart racing. She makes me so happy.

(Nina enters.)

[continue]