Chekhov: 475 books

One must never judge by appearances! Look at this book: it has long ago been read. It is warped, tattered, and lies in the dust uncared for; but open it, and it will make you weep and turn pale. My sister is like that book. Lift the cover and peep into her soul, and you will be horror-stricken.

An idle artist meets a woman and her two daughters while traveling the Russian countryside. The eldest daughter, Lida, is strong-minded and purposeful, intent on her mission to better the lives of the local peasants. Unlike her elder sister, the younger daughter, Genya, is sweet and simple. But when...

Bishop Pyotr was tired. His breathing was laboured and rapid, his throat was parched, his shoulders ached with weariness, his legs were trembling. And it disturbed him unpleasantly when a religious maniac uttered occasional shrieks in the gallery. And then all of a sudden, as though in a dream or delirium,...

In the Grasshopper we find a love triangle. Olga, her rather boring husband preoccupied with his work, and a young artist. Olga craves the excitement of the artistic life and finds a new lease on romance with the colourful landscape designer, who takes her on a cruise. But not all is going to plan in...

Big raindrops were pattering on the dark windows. It was one of those disgusting summer holiday rains which, when they have begun, last a long time—for weeks, till the frozen holiday maker grows used to it, and sinks into complete apathy. It was cold; there was a feeling of raw, unpleasant dampness....

One day when she was younger and better-looking, and when her voice was stronger, Nikolay Petrovitch Kolpakov, her adorer, was sitting in the outer room in her summer villa. It was intolerably hot and stifling. Kolpakov, who had just dined and drunk a whole bottle of inferior port, felt ill-humoured...

One morning there was a burial of the collegiate assessor, Kirill Ivanovitch Babilonov who died because of two diseases, that were the most common in the society: an angry wife and alcoholisms. When the funeral procession moved on from the church towards the cemetery, one of teammate of the dead man,...

After the festive dinner with its eight courses and its endless conversation, Olga Mihalovna, whose husband’s name-day was being celebrated, went out into the garden. The duty of smiling and talking incessantly, the clatter of the crockery, the stupidity of the servants, the long intervals between...

The sky was totally covered with heavy clouds - it was a cold rainy day. Pavel Petrovitch Somov was annoyed by this weather. His room was dark and cold and the tears of rain on the window made him depressed. He was bored because he hadn't any entertainment or any affair. His wife was sitting at the...

The House with the Mezzanine features a romantic story of a young artist and Eugenia, one of the two sisters living in the house. Eugenia longs to discover the domain of the Eternal and the Beautiful though her discovery of the arts and her developing romantic relationship. Lidia, the other sister, does...

Grisha, a fat, solemn little person of seven, was standing by the kitchen door listening and peeping through the keyhole. In the kitchen something extraordinary, and in his opinion never seen before, was taking place. A big, thick-set, red-haired peasant, with a beard, and a drop of perspiration on his...

I understood that when you love you must either, in your reasonings about that love, start from what is highest, from what is more important than happiness or unhappiness, sin or virtue in their accepted meaning, or you must not reason at all.

If anything happens it’s all known at once, nothing is hidden! It's incredible! You can't imagine! Look! My name has been published! Now all Russia knows of me!' A cautionary tale about people wanting and getting fame at any cost.

Between five and six in the evening. A fairly well-known man of learning is sitting in his study nervously biting his nails. 'It's positively revolting,' he says, continually looking at his watch. 'It shows the utmost disrespect for another man's time and work. In England such a person would not earn a farthing, he would die of hunger. You wait a minute, when you do come . . . .'