Anton Pavlovich Chekhov

Love and Other Stories Anton Pavlovich Chekhov

THREE o'clock in the morning. The soft April night is looking in at my windows and caressingly winking at me with its stars. I can't sleep, I am so happy! My whole being from head to heels is bursting with a strange, incomprehensible feeling. I can't analyse it just now - I haven't the time, I'm too lazy, and there - hang analysis! Why, is a man likely to interpret his sensations when he is flying head foremost from a belfry, or has just learned that he has won two hundred thousand? Is he in a state to do it?"